


Pleased To Meet You

by Writingwife83



Series: Pleased To Meet You [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uni!lock Sherlolly- Our story opens when Sherlock Holmes meets Molly Hooper for the first time. But maybe it's not really the first time they've met. Where did the history of Sherlock and Molly really begin? This is how I'd like to imagine it. This is meant to fit with the canon of the BBC show. No alternate universe here!... Please review and thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! This is a story that I completed a while back on another fan fiction site, and now I'm uploading it on here too. I'm going to do the first couple chapters today, and then I'll plan to put a new one up every day after. Hopefully it'll keep all of you wanting more hehe! ;)

"You'll like her, she's sweet. This is her first week here though, so go easy on her, Sherlock. Probably best not to deduce too much at this point. That is, if you'd like to get on her good side!"

"You know I need to, Lestrade. The last two that were here full time drove me absolutely mad!" Sherlock grumbled with his hands folded behind him as they walked the halls in Bart's hospital.

"A case could certainly be made that you had the very same effect on them, Sherlock."

"A case could also be made that they were morons."

The two men entered the lab and a small woman with a long brown ponytail turned at that moment to face the two of them. She immediately let out a small gasp and her mouth hung open for a moment. Greg Lestrade went over to her and touched her shoulder briefly.

"You alright Molly? Wanted to bring someone by to meet you. Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective. Helps us out...a lot." Lestrade looked toward Sherlock and saw that his eyes were a little wider than usual and he looked almost frightened. He tried to ignore the fact that the detective looked a little uncomfortable, and he continued with introductions.

"Sherlock, this is Molly Hooper. She's the new full time pathologist here at Bart's. You'll be seeing each other often I'm sure."

Sherlock swallowed and stepped forward slowly, then extended his gloved hand. Molly's eyes rose to meet his and they locked together. She reached out her little hand and took the handshake he offered, electricity traveling to her with ease despite the leather that separated their skin.

"Hello, Sherlock," she said, not much above a whisper.

"Hello...Pleased to meet you, Molly Hooper," he said in a low voice.

That low voice that she remembered so very well. She'd never forgotten the beautiful and haunting sound. But she'd never believed that she'd hear it again. And yet here they both were, together in a lab again. It took her back to so many years ago to a time when she was younger, and even more naive, and had ended up learning so much. So much about herself, and so much about this strange and amazing man that once again stood before her.

Neither Molly nor Sherlock was aware that the other had also been so rapidly transported back in time to their first meeting...their _actual_ first meeting...


	2. Chapter 2

-The year 2002-

Molly walked across the grass and surveyed the area. There were other young men and women everywhere. A sea of people out to learn more and become something they, or perhaps even others, wanted them to be. She hoisted her tote further up her shoulder and walked toward a nearby tree. She needed to take a little break and get herself organized before heading to her first class.

She sat down and took out the building plan again, reminding herself of which way to go. She checked and double checked that she had gotten everything she needed. She was still in a bit of a mess in her room. She'd barely begun to get everything in order. Things were still in boxes and bags. This made it difficult for Molly to look forward to returning to her room later that evening. She wished she had everything clean and completely set waiting for her so that she could study and rest in peace. But it was clear there would be a significant adjustment period at the start of her time here at Oxford University.

She was upbeat though. What could be better? She was on her way to becoming a doctor. She was making her family, and herself, quite proud. She was sure that lots of her former classmates wouldn't have thought she was capable of great things, but she felt sure she'd prove them all wrong, and what a beautiful place to prove them all wrong. She'd told herself that her time here needed to be serious. More serious than the four years she'd already spent studying and acing tests...but of course, it was easier said than done. There would certainly be plenty of distractions available around here. She picked herself up and knew it was time to move along quickly before she made herself late.

Molly found her morning's first class and took a seat. A pretty blond girls sat next to her and smiled warmly.

"Hi, I'm Jane. I hope you're as normal as you look because I'd like to find some friends for the five minutes a week when my head isn't stuck in the books."

"Hi, I'm Molly Hooper. Nice to meet you. And I'd like to think I'm frighteningly normal. Nothing exciting ever happens to me! So prepare to have a very boring five minutes of freedom every week." She shook Jane's hand just before the professor walked up to begin.

Molly was thrown into the world of studying and reading and listening and note taking immediately. There was no easing into things in that regard. She was thrown into the deep end and had to quickly learn to swim. She knew she was up to it, based on the fact that she was here at Exeter college in Oxford University earning her medical degree. But she still felt overwhelmed, and there was no helping that.

One thing in particular stood out to Molly in this biology class on that first day. There was one student that was very frequently answering questions. Well, not exactly answering all the questions. More like, _questioning_ the questions. He would ask the professor what the basis for this lesson was, and get into details that were slightly beside the point, and at one point he even asked the professor why he had only gotten four hours of sleep the previous night. Molly cringed, expecting the young man to be thrown out of class immediately, but he wasn't. Instead the professor just shook his head and tried to move on with the lesson as the young man was heard quietly chuckling to himself. He seemed to know this student already and wasn't shocked by the strange behavior.

Jane leaned over to another student near her and asked who that was. He said that was Sherlock, and he's third year and majors in Chemistry. He's usually like that and everyone is used to it by now. Said he's smart in a bizarre sort of way, but he's not very friendly. Molly peered down a few rows to where he sat, and could only see the mass of dark curly hair and a white dress shirt. When the class ended, he stuck his arms in a coat and pulled it up his shoulders as he stood. He turned the collar up and quickly exited the room with his laptop in tow.

Molly spent that first week in class after class and studied quite a bit as well. Any and all extra time left over was spent getting her room in order. By the end of the first weekend, she was completely settled in and felt more at ease in her own space. She got along well with a few students she'd met at Exeter, so was feeling more comfortable with the people too. The strange faces all began to be familiar faces, and so she felt more at home.

Molly liked the living conditions. She began regularly using the gym, which was happily free for the students and on the same road as Exeter house where she lived now. The room was fine. Simple, but certainly good enough. It wasn't her favorite thing in the world to share a bathroom and kitchen with other people, but she was certainly used to it by now, being a graduate student. There were some rooms that had their own bathroom, and even fewer others that had a bathroom and small kitchen, but those were certainly out of her reach. She felt lucky enough to be at Oxford, and she couldn't afford to indulge in luxury.

Classes went well. She was fascinated and challenged. She was doing what she had wanted to do for a long time, so it made any difficulty worth the effort. And it _was_ difficult of course. There was a lot of memorizing involved in the first year of medical school, and she had known that was coming. She looked forward to the clinical experience of course, and that was what comforted her when she felt herself already becoming sick to death of all the book work.

She continued to see this Sherlock fellow around pretty often. She had a few classes with him, and he tended to stand out a bit, so it was easy to notice him around Exeter college. While in classes, he usually stirred things up a bit in the same way he had on that first day. He didn't seem to have much of a filter. He said whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted, including the professors. He was also usually right. Molly was a little intimidated, even watching him from afar. That other student had said he wasn't friendly and he certainly didn't look it. She didn't see him standing or chatting with other students. He seemed to keep to himself.

Into the second month of classes, Molly was rather further surprised to see Sherlock upset a fellow student. A young woman named Sarah was his lab partner in biology, and after about a half hour she rushed out of the room appearing to be in tears. Sherlock barely blinked. He continued working on his own and the girl didn't come back till the lab was almost over anyway. Molly watched him for a while, becoming distracted from her own work. He was so very different, it was clear...it was a bit intriguing.

Intrigued wasn't really the feeling she experienced though, when some days later she herself was assigned to work with Sherlock. At that point it was just plain old fear. She was hoping that she wouldn't end up running from the room crying, or that he'd be questioning her every move. She slowly gathered her belongings and made her way over to where he stood, looming over the table and supplies. She stopped as she came over next to him and put her things down. He didn't even glance over at her. He was busily working already. Molly cautiously looked at him. She cleared her throat and bravely stuck her hand out.

"Hi. I'm Molly Hooper."

"Yes, I know. I'm Sherlock Holmes, but you already know that...pleased to meet you." He turned toward her, accepting the handshake briefly.

Molly hadn't seen him up close before this and was then struck by the experience of having him look right into her eyes. It looked like someone had condensed the entire Atlantic Ocean into this man's eyes. The color, _colors_ more accurately, and depth were unreal. She immediately concluded that there had to be more to this strange man than how he appeared at first, and she just wanted to know him, even though it seemed unlikely.

"You're a chemistry major right?" she asked as he turned back to the table.

"Yes, that's right. I gather someone has told you that. I find it unlikely _you'd_ be able to deduce my major."

"Oh, um, no of course not. I'm not sure how I'd do that. Yes, someone told me."

"And you're getting your medical degree, correct?"

"Yes that's right. Someone told you then?"

"Nope."

Molly frowned to herself. "Oh, really? So, how did you-"

"And you'd like to be a pathologist, I believe," he stated and met her eyes again briefly as Molly stared at him, mouth now agape.

"H-how would you...know that?" she said quietly, a bit nervous now.

Sherlock shrugged. "It's easy enough to deduce...for me, that is."

"Well that's, that's...amazing. Can't hide anything from you I suppose!" Molly made an effort to be cheery, afraid that she'd get on his bad side.

"Are we going to do this lab?" he asked, and she detected some impatience now in his voice.

"Yes, right, ok. You're right, let's get going," she said quickly, and then got serious about the work.

The angle she took with Sherlock that day was to keep him happy. Appease him. He seemed to like calling the shots and staying in control. He clearly didn't like being questioned either, so she let him take the lead. He seemed to be rather happy doing this lab, with her as a sort of assistant. She assumed that lots of other students would be offended that he was making them take a back seat. But she felt that he was the kind of man you take small steps with. Maybe they wouldn't be best friends by the end of this cell respiration lab...but he also wasn't going to hate her. That was the most she could hope for at this early stage.

The class ended and Sherlock began to quickly gather his things and get ready to exit the room. They weren't done with the lab yet, so Molly knew she'd be seeing him the following day and they'd be working together again.

"Glad we got to work together, Sherlock. I'll see you tomorrow!" she said with a smile.

Sherlock frowned slightly, seeming a little taken aback at the way she spoke to him. He simply nodded at her and then turned to leave. Molly could see he was obviously uncomfortable with the idea that someone had just been nice to him. She smiled to herself as he left the classroom, and she looked forward to the prospect of getting to know this unusual man better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now folks! Chapter 3 will be up tomorrow! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

-Bart's hospital 2010-

Molly shut her locker with a click and headed for the morgue. She'd been so excited about her new job. It was a huge step for her, and she felt like she'd finally gotten everything she'd wanted. Professionally at least...and she was still excited about the job, really.

"I am," she whispered to herself as she entered the morgue and looked at her list for the day.

She wasn't upset to have run into Sherlock Holmes again. It was just a little bump in the road. She'd spent plenty of time with Sherlock before, and it certainly wouldn't kill her to see him again once in a while. She was younger, she told herself, when she'd known him before. And she was better at controlling her emotions now. So surely she'd be able to avoid the same sort of issues that the relationship had caused her before. Sherlock didn't need to dominate her life and mind today the same way he had years ago. She'd be able to separate business and...other things.

She had to do a routine postmortem that morning and was discouraged to find herself thinking way too much about the stupid man the whole time. He looked almost the same. He dressed about the same. That same coat and scarf, and the dress shirts. The stuff her dreams were made of, for literally years. His hair had been a touch shorter in university, and perhaps there were a few more little lines scattered on his face. Not that that was a negative. She used to love the way the bridge of his nose would crinkle up with he was making an especially upset or confused face.

"Stop it stop it stop it!" she hissed at herself.

She got through the work as quickly as she could and tried to stay focused, but was beginning to realize that any hopes of remaining coolly indifferent to Sherlock Holmes were probably rather ridiculous. She thought about how it began years ago...and how it ended. Molly was cleaning up soon after and began wondering what may be different now compared to then. Was he different? Would anything be different with them? She guessed he was much the same seeing as he didn't do more than play along with the introduction that Greg had given, as if he'd never seen her before in his life. It was like she'd be starting from scratch. Back to the beginning, trying to make a friendship with a man that seemed unattainable...in almost every sense of the word. It was a little discouraging really. How far they'd come, and now it seemed she couldn't even call him an old friend.

Molly picked up her mobile to check the message she'd received.

LESTRADE GAVE ME YOUR NUMBER. I'LL NEED TO BE ABLE TO REACH YOU EASILY. AND I DO TEND TO WORK AT ODD HOURS, SO KEEP YOUR PHONE ON. -SH

Molly shook her head and chuckled. "Yeah, I know you do, you big idiot," she muttered to herself.

YES I KNOW...CONGRATULATIONS BY THE WAY. YOU'VE DONE WELL. -MH

THANK YOU. YOU AS WELL. -SH

She really was impressed. He'd clearly ended up doing what he loved, and she had always hoped he would be able to. He deserved that. She couldn't imagine Sherlock stuck in some silly job like other people. He needed to use his talents, or she was pretty sure he'd go mad.

Sherlock Holmes was a detective, and he had never been meant to be anything else.

* * *

-Oxford University 2002-

Molly saw Sherlock the next day as he was leaving Exeter house and getting his bike. She jogged over to try and catch up with him, but he sped off rather quickly. She slowed her pace again and got on her own bike to head to the college. She rode to the building and parked her bike with the others before walking in the door. As she did, she saw a couple of girls standing by the lab. Sherlock walked past them and one of them grabbed his coat sleeve, stopping him short.

"Hey, Sherlock. Maybe you'd like to deduce what my knickers look like today." She giggled, glancing at her friend.

Molly grimaced. That was not flirting. This girl was clearly teasing more than flirting with him. She wondered how often this sort of thing happened to him. She couldn't help but stay where she was and continue to listen to the interchange.

"Oh, I see!" he said sarcastically, "you must have heard that I solve mysteries. Were you so drunk last night that you're not even sure what you're wearing under your clothes now? Hmm, that's a shame. Well I could certainly tell you the answer, but I prefer not taking cases that _bore_ me. So you'll just have to figure this one out on your own."

"Charming Sherlock, as usual!" she sneered at him.

He rolled his eyes and walked past her, shaking the arm of his coat free from her hand as he went. Molly waited a moment, then she followed his same path and went into the lab room. Sherlock seemed busy on his mobile and didn't acknowledge her when she came in and set her things down next to him.

"Morning. Sleep well?" she asked brightly.

No reply.

She peered at his profile for a moment as he continued busily on his phone. She had just begun to turn away and give up when he set his phone down.

"Working. Have to find a student's stolen bicycle. I think I'll have it back by the end of the day. Had to make a couple contacts though...you were saying?"

"Oh, um, sleep...did you sleep well?"

He began readying the rest of their project as he answered evenly. "I don't sleep much. My night was fine though."

"Oh ok. So you solve mysteries for students sometimes?"

"Sometimes. It keeps me from getting bored here. This will be my last year, and it's becoming more and more tedious each day. Chemistry will serve me well and I'd like to get out in the field and use it."

"Oh yes? Where would you like to work as a chemist?"

"I'm not going to be a chemist. I'm going to be a detective."

"Oh! Well that's a perfect fit for you isn't it? You'll be fantastic!" she said grinning at him.

Sherlock looked at her strangely. Again, he seemed to be unable to accept the fact that she was being friendly.

"Here, hand me that paper," he said nodding toward some directions next to her. She did, and got the message that he wanted to stop the chatting now.

They worked well together. Just like they had the previous day. She enjoyed being with him, and he didn't seem bothered by her. He just seemed unsure of how to react to her sometimes. Almost a note of suspicion in his piercing eyes. Molly watched him as he worked tirelessly. Sometimes he demonstrated some actual passion about something that went right, or something that was particularly interesting. She could tell this was what he loved, _the work_ was what he loved. At one point he took her by the shoulders and moved her in front of the microscope, instructing her excitedly to look. She stood there wearing a smile and a deep pink blush on her cheeks as he slid his hands from her arms, not having any idea the effect he was beginning to have on Molly.

She was ashamed to admit that she was feeling a bit like a fourteen year old version of herself. This tall, handsome, brilliant man standing so close to her was making her nervous and jittery. She was happy just to be close to him. Just to hear him speak to her with that voice, and look at her with those eyes. Sure, he wasn't the sweetest person in the world. A case could be made that he was downright unpleasant. But somehow she found that failing to matter in the slightest.

Molly was a little disappointed when the lab was over. The work was finished and things had gone well, but she didn't have the excuse to be so close to him anymore. She noted that he didn't seem to care particularly. He was pleased with how the lab came out, so that was all he really cared about. She thought about asking him if he'd like to grab a bite for lunch or something. But he didn't seem interested in lingering now that the class was over. He looked briefly at her and gave her what could barely be defined as a smile.

"Nicely done today, Molly."

He was gone before she could really say much in reply. A friend of hers came after he had walked away.

"How was that? Must have been weird," he said.

"It was...nice," she answered quietly, but then she tried to act as casual as possible and conceal how this silly crush was developing more and more with each passing moment.

* * *

The following week she didn't see much of Sherlock. Just a passing glance of him in a couple of classes and around Exeter house. She didn't want to follow him around or be too pushy. But she really wanted to talk to him again. She made an effort later in that week to sit at the same table as him for breakfast, but he didn't take the bait. He got up soon after, not seeming to even notice her presence.

That Sunday night Molly was alternating her efforts between studying and doing some much needed laundry, which involved trips to the laundry nearest to her room, in the basement of her building. She had done one load and was waiting for it to dry, and was wrestling another load into the washer. She put some coins in and pressed the button, but the coins only went in part way and she couldn't get them to come back out either. She tugged at the lever and was muttering some choice words, when she was suddenly made to jump at the sound of a deep voice in the doorway.

"Having some trouble?"

She turned to see Sherlock leaning on the doorway and smiling a little. He was actually in sweats and a tee shirt, which was an unusual look for him. Still gorgeous though...

"Oh, hi. Um, yes, a bit of trouble. The coins seem to be stuck halfway in." She tucked hair behind her ears as he came over to the machine. Sherlock leaned down and peered in, then stood up again.

"It does this sometimes. It just requires a bit of a firm hand." He took the heel of his hand and whacked the side of the coin slot a couple times. They heard the clank of the coins falling in, and Sherlock looked at her and smiled proudly.

"Oh thanks! I'll have to remember that next time...Oh, hope you didn't need the machine right now."

"Oh no. Just passing by. Happened to hear the sounds of...distress."

She laughed a little. "Right. Well, thanks. Are you in building N too?"

"Yes. I'm just directly upstairs on the first floor in 1B."

"I'm third floor. Room 36. Wait, 1B...isn't that one of the studio flats?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Well lucky you! How did you manage that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have my ways. Besides, I don't exactly 'play well with others' so I'm pretty sure everyone wins when I have my own space."

"I didn't mind playing with you- I mean, not play. I mean work. Like on the lab...you know what I mean," she hurried to clarify, though it came out sloppy and she felt her cheeks burning.

He smirked as she could see he was aware of her nervousness. "Yes, Molly, I knew what you meant."

"Ok, well, I'll just grab my bag here and be on my way I suppose. So um, thanks again."

"Not a problem," he said quietly as they both exited the small room.

"What were you doing down here anyway if not washing? I mean the only thing of use in the basement is the laundry room."

"I use areas of the basement to store some of my larger experiments. Rather useful that other people don't frequent the rest of the space down here. I do keep some experiments in my flat, but only the smaller ones."

"Ah ha, I see. Well, how useful indeed?" This man got more and more strange. She loved it.

"Biology tomorrow isn't it?" he asked as they got back up to the first floor.

"Yes, at eleven. So I guess I'll see you then?"

"Yes you will. See you tomorrow, Molly Hooper."

Molly smiled at him as he turned and went down the hallway to his door. She had to keep her feet from skipping a bit as she made her way to the stairwell and up to the third floor again. Tomorrow was looking pretty good to her right about now.

* * *

Molly had been aware that there was going to be another lab starting that Monday, and she was looking forward to that, though she wished she could be working with Sherlock again. He had said he'd see her today though, so she figured there was the chance he'd actually make the effort to say hello. Maybe he just wanted to say hello despite the fact that they wouldn't be working together this time.

Molly was getting set up and another girl came over and set her bag down.

"Hi there, I'm Barbara. I think we're working together on this one," she said and extended her hand.

Molly was just about to shake her hand when Sherlock seemed to pop up out of nowhere beside Barbara and announce, "No Barbara, as a matter of fact you are working over there. Your partner's name is Steven, and I believe you'll get on splendidly."

Molly's mouth hung open and Barbara looked back and forth between the two as she responded. "Um, no I'm working here with Molly. You must have read your sheet wrong."

"Actually no," Sherlock said as he stepped in a bit closer to Barbara and stared her down menacingly. "I think it's you who's got it wrong. You are in fact working over there with Steven. And I am working here with Molly. Any more questions?"

Barbara frowned and looked at Molly who shrugged.

"Fine. Ok fine. I'll just go work...over there I suppose," said a confused Barbara as she grabbed her bag and hurried along.

"They'll be fine," Sherlock said calmly as he began making himself comfortable. "They both enjoy the same music and food."

"Do they?" Molly managed, still in shock.

"Mmm, they do. We'll be working together now."

"Um, yes I can see that."

"I mean this year. I'd prefer just working with you, at least in the classes we have in common."

"This year?" Molly was mortified that her voice actually cracked as she asked the question.

"Yes, this year. You're not a moron, and you don't irritate me much. I prefer to avoid people like that. We also work well together." His eyes locked onto hers, a bit of question in the blue and green. "Unless you have some sort of objection."

Molly began shaking her head and answered as quickly and coherently as possible. "No! No no no. It's fine. We can work together. Let's do that. I'd like that- that'll be nice." She pressed her lips together to stop the flood of acceptance from continuing to pour from her mouth.

"Good. I thought you'd be pleased...well, let's get going shall we?" He rubbed his hands together gleefully, with eyes looking very bright.

Molly did her best to act as if this wasn't a big deal, but inside she was trying to slow her heart rate and wondering if the impossible had just happened...that she had just become a friend of Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get another up tomorrow. Hope you're all liking this one! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

-Bart's Hospital 2010-

Sherlock strode into Bart's and went straight to the elevators. He punched the button to go to the basement level, and tried to re-process what had happened the few days before, when Molly Hooper had once again entered his life. He had been genuinely shocked when he'd seen her face again. It had been years and he honestly thought he'd never see her again. It had been quite a long time since he'd even allowed himself to think about her.

She was the same Molly. Those years he spent at university weren't the favorite of his life. But he had to admit that seeing her face was nostalgic. He was reminded of a lot that was stored inside his mind, things that he had tucked deep inside, but hadn't quite been able to delete. He also reminded himself that he had learned lessons that final year at Oxford. He had learned how much of a disadvantage emotions could be. It had been the closest he'd come to...a lot of things.

Sherlock straightened up and exited the elevator as the doors opened. He was glad that he's become older and wiser now, and he was happy that his life had turned out the way it had. He had just about everything he could want. That is, as long as the cases kept pouring in. He had enough company, he told himself. He saw Lestrade while working on cases. Mrs. Hudson brought him tea every day. There was always the skull...

He entered the morgue and Molly turned around at hearing the sound.

"Oh, hi. Morning. Um, coffee?"

_She's nervous_ , he thought. He looked at her eyes as he came up closer. He watched as the pupils dilated largely and he saw her cheeks flush in the same way he'd seen many times before.

_Still?_ he thought to himself. _After all these years...this will not do._

"Yes please...black, two sugars."

* * *

-Oxford University, 2002-

For Molly, that following month was spent working hard in class. Her head was spinning from all the mental energy she was using on learning and remembering. She enjoyed the rare moments when she could relax and enjoy the surroundings. It was easy to forget what a beautiful place she was in while she was working so hard. But the surroundings were lovely and there were fun things to do, when there was time for it.

Sherlock did indeed become a permanent fixture in her academic world. He made a point of working with her at any opportunity. He wasn't anything close to warm and fuzzy though. There were many times when Molly asked herself why he wanted to work with her when he didn't seem to want to be friends. He didn't need her in order to do well, that was certain. He could be working with an idiot and he would still easily carry the intellectual load by himself. And yet, he demanded to have her at his side.

If it were any other man, she would logically conclude that he had feelings for her. But even in the short time she'd known Sherlock, she could clearly see that was not the correct explanation. It would be too...commonplace. And he was anything but.

After working closely with him a number of times in that month though, Molly itched to spend some time with Sherlock _outside_ the classroom setting. What's his family like? What are his hobbies? Where are his favorite places to go? She'd like to know it all, frankly, because she found him fascinating. She wanted to study him the way she'd watched him study chemicals on a petri dish.

It was Friday afternoon, and Molly was cleaning up supplies in the sink after class when Sherlock swept over beside her and smiled. She'd learned that he usually smiled for a reason. And it wasn't a normal reason like...he was happy.

"Hi, Sherlock. What is it?" she asked as she glanced sideways while continuing her task in the sink.

"You have anatomy soon don't you?"

"I do, yes. When did I tell you that I-"

"That's fortunate," he said and pursed his lips, considering this confirmation of her schedule. He paused and took a breath before speaking again. "You're aware, I'm sure, that it's Friday."

"Oh, well, naturally yes. Why do you ask?"

"Well that of course means that the weekend is looming ahead of us. I always have such a task ahead of me, keeping myself from becoming bored out of my mind over the weekend. Sometimes I have my side cases to take care of. But on weekends such as this, I have nothing in particular to fill my time." Sherlock rocked on his heels a bit as he spoke.

Molly lost her grip on one of the dishes she was trying to wash. _My God!_ she though breathlessly. _He is a normal man, and he's about to ask me out!_

"Oh um yes, well that's true isn't it? Don't we all try to fill our time on the weekends? I know I do!" Molly laughed, and the sound was annoying even to her. "At this point I have, well, nothing to do yet."

"Mmm, well that's...a shame." Sherlock's eyes shifted a bit, noticing her strange behavior. "Anyway, I had a favor to ask you."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well since you are about to be at your anatomy class, I'd very much like for you to bring me a tissue sample." The corner of his mouth curled a bit in another smile.

Molly stared for a moment, processing this request. Somehow this conversation had taken a turn without using an indicator, and Molly was now very lost. She blinked a couple of times as he stared back.

"Sorry um- wait what? You want me to bring you a...tissue sample? A human tissue sample?" she questioned with eyebrows raised.

"Yeees...as I said, I need to occupy my mind during the weekend. I'll have to keep myself busy with experiments." He clarified while narrowing his eyes at her, as if it was the most obvious answer.

Molly shifted uncomfortably as she not only thought about the strangeness of what he was asking of her, but also dealt with the disappointment of what he was _not_ asking her. "Oh, well, I'm not sure I really feel comfortable..."

Sherlock took another step closer. _Oh my, he smells good too,_ she though with an inward sigh. She had to turn the tap off and dry her hands so she wasn't continuing to drop things in the sink as she tried to listen to him.

"Molly, I'd very much appreciate whatever you can bring me," he said in a quieter voice and lower octave. "Even if it's small, it would be such a help...I'm not sure who else I'd be able to ask. You're the only person I could think of."

She tried to tell herself not to look at him, she really tried. She knew it would be a mistake. He was already trying to win her over, and if she actually looked at him, she knew she'd be absolutely no use at all refusing. But Molly didn't listen to herself, and she turned. Her gaze was met by his and that was it. She kicked herself inwardly.

"Um, sure, ok. I'll see what I can do I suppose." She smiled brightly, despite her reservations. She was rewarded by a grin from Sherlock in return, but he stepped back quickly to make his exit.

"Excellent! Come by 1B this evening on your way to your room and you can drop it off...please and thank you."

"Oh ok, I suppose. See you then!" she called, but he was halfway to the door by then.

Molly sighed, and wondered what she'd just gotten herself into.

* * *

She had covertly gotten what Sherlock had asked for and put the covered container in her bag to bring to him later. Her friend Jane came up to her as she left the class.

"Hey, what are your plans tonight? You want to come get some dinner with a few of us? We're going into town. There's a couple of single guys coming too," she added in a sing song voice while nudging Molly.

"Oh I don't know, I may be busy. I have another class, then I have to go stop by a friend's room to drop something off."

"That's all? You sound pretty free to me. Why don't you just come out with us afterward?"

Molly tilted her head in thought. "Well, I'd sort of like to leave my evening open. I mean, in case my friend wanted to get dinner or something."

Molly knew this was wishful thinking, but she was so afraid that Sherlock would miraculously choose to ask her out this evening and she'd then be forced to say no if she already had plans.

"Oh I see! So this is a friend you like then. Who is he?"

"I wouldn't say I like him...I mean I do! But, I don't know, I'm not quite sure how much. And I think he probably doesn't like me."

"You didn't answer the question, Molly. Who is he?!" Jane pressed.

"Well...it's Sherlock."

Jane frowned and her eyes widened at Molly. "Oh Molly, you can't be serious. He's bizarre! I know he's kind of cute, but I can't picture him being a great catch."

"I don't know, Jane, I can't exactly explain it myself. All I know is I'm enjoying working with him in class. And he doesn't seem to want to work with anyone but me. So, that's kind of nice."

"Then why don't you think he likes you? Seems kind of obvious to me. You should just make a move, I'm sure he'll take the bait. He is a man after all! So I guess you are busy tonight! Well, we will certainly miss you. And I'll want to hear how things go! Got to run, I'll talk to you soon. And remember, don't be a baby, just make a move!" she said again as she jogged off.

Molly had a gut feeling that making a move was a bad idea, but she also felt like Jane was a wiser woman than she in the relationship department. Maybe she'd be doing herself a favor if she just took Jane's advice. She bit her lip and walked along slowly to her next class, as she thought about the pros and cons of taking this risk.

* * *

Later that early evening, Molly had gone inside her building in Exeter house and was doing some deep breathing, trying to relax herself in order to do what she'd decided. She went to 1B and knocked lightly a few times. She heard Sherlock come to the door right away. He unlocked and opened it. His dress shirt sleeves were rolled up and he had to take off some safety goggles.

"Ah, Molly, right on time. Come in." He stepped aside to allow her entry into the studio flat.

Molly looked around and admired the space. It wasn't fancy of course, but it was certainly more than what most students had. There was the small kitchen in the corner, and she saw the door to a little bathroom.

"Maybe I should start not playing well with others," she muttered to herself, envious of her surroundings.

"So, here you go. I got what I could," she said, pulling out the small container and handing it to him.

"Oh wonderful! Thank you, this is most helpful...we should have a standing arrangement," he added with a small smile. Then he turned his back and began doing something at his small table which he'd clearly turned into a surface that was used only for experiments.

"So it's nice to have the week done isn't it?"

"Mmm." He barely turned.

"Well, I'm glad I could um, help. So..." _Just do it Molly._ "Are you doing anything tonight then?"

Sherlock turned again to face her. "Well there's much more chance of that now that you've made such a lovely contribution. So, yes, I suppose I may have some things to do."

"Oh, well, that's not really what I meant. You see, I was asking more like if you were doing anything for um, fun."

Blank stare. Molly continued.

"You know, like, with other people, or even just one person."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and moved around the room, as if to search for the answer. Molly wondered why this was such a difficult and confusing question.

"What exactly would I be...doing with said person or people?"

Molly rolled her eyes a little and sighed. This wasn't going well. She hadn't even gotten past the definition of a social outing, and she was already feeling rejected.

"Just something fun, Sherlock. Like dinner, or a film, or a club, or something...I don't know. I suppose the obvious answer is no, you're not doing anything like that tonight."

"No...why do you ask?" he said slowly, peering down at her.

"I was just thinking, well wondering if you were free...because I'm free as well, it so happens!" She smiled, pausing. She watched him, and his expression hadn't changed. _God, this is going about as badly as it could possibly go_ she thought. Why should she even bother to continue speaking? Wasn't this horror show enough of an answer? The voice in her head began screaming for her to retreat immediately.

"You know what? Never mind, it's silly!" she said at lightning speed as she waved her hand dismissively. "I was just thinking, but never mind. I'm going to just go to my room upstairs and do...something. It's fine, I'll just- go. You seem to have, you know, things to do by yourself." Molly turned, heading back toward his door.

Sherlock may be socially inept, but he wasn't a total idiot. And he'd been somewhat aware the entire time, that Molly Hooper was trying to get him to do something of a recreational nature with her. He was trying to wait and see if she'd ever actually get the words out. He wasn't exactly excited about doing something like that with her. He much preferred sticking to activities related to their education.

And he could have let Molly walk out of his little flat that evening, without saying another word. She would have left and possibly not ever come back. He assessed the possible outcome if he chose to leave things as is. This shy, smart, somewhat awkward girl who had quickly become a constant feature in his daily life may not feel comfortable with him anymore after this. And that did not seem an acceptable option to him...

Sherlock opened his mouth as she was opening the door. "Molly?"

"Yes, what?" she quickly answered, whirling around.

"Do you like fencing?"

She pressed her lips together and tilted her head. "Um, you mean like, that thing with swords?"

Sherlock began to wonder if he'd gone in the wrong direction with this offer. "Perhaps I'll rephrase the question in that case. Would you like to _learn_ how to fence, Molly?"

A smile began to spread on her lips. "Yeah, why not?"

"Good. Let's go then."

* * *

-St. Bart's Hospital 2010-

"Here's the victim," Molly began, as she lifted the sheet. "Multiple stab wounds to the chest, arms, and neck. The weapon had to be sharp enough to cut as deep as it did, because there wasn't a terrible amount of force involved it seems. The wounds are very clean too. Could be something like a kitchen knife, but it would have to be a very sharp one. The cuts on his arms would indicate that he tried to fight the attacker off...not successfully of course."

"Isn't his wife a-"

"A chef," Sherlock said, cutting Lestrade off. "Access to the best and sharpest knives a person could want. The lack of extreme force would be consistent with someone of slightly lesser strength. As well as the fact that someone of that profession would know that such an instrument can do plenty of damage with very little force. I'd say it's time to check into someone's personal schedule Lestrade."

Sherlock pulled his gloves off with a snap and threw them in the bin, seeming ready to head right out quickly.

"Seventeen points for sabre," Molly said quietly, and both men looked at her again.

"What, Molly?" Lestrade asked with a quizzical expression.

"Fencing reference," Sherlock answered for her from where he stood by the door.

"Fencing?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Yes, it's the name for a certain target area. Sabre refers to the head, torso, and arms. One point for each hit."

"Really? Molly, I didn't know you were into fencing!" Lestrade said looking back toward her.

Molly didn't look up at first. "I'm not, not really." She raised her eyes toward the door.

"Had a few lessons in uni though," she added softly.

Greg said something like "How interesting...I didn't know that." But Molly wasn't looking at him. She was still looking over to where Sherlock stood.

For a brief moment, he looked up and locked eyes with her...then he muttered something about getting back to work, and was out the door. Lestrade said a quick goodbye and that he'd better follow Sherlock. The door shut and Molly was alone again.

Molly whispered to herself with a giggle. "And that's one point for _me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be added tomorrow! See you then... ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'll be away in another few days. So I'll start posting two chapters a day for the next few days. Hope you all enjoy it! ;)

-Oxford University 2002-

Molly was excited to be doing something fun with Sherlock, but was also hoping not to make a total idiot out of herself. Sherlock clearly knew what he was doing, she thought to herself, as she watched him quickly get his gear on and get the swords they'd be using.

"Awfully empty here at the gym. Makes it easier. We don't have to have the bother of other people," he said as he strolled over to the middle of the floor and waited for her.

"Well I think most people don't choose fencing as their activity for a Friday evening." Molly came over to join him though she was still trying to fasten the first part of her gear correctly.

"Here, let me," Sherlock said as he closed the distance between them and set down the swords so he could fasten the plastron properly. She would have thought that it was an excuse to touch her or get close, but he never raised his eyes to hers as he reached around her middle to pull the side straps tighter. Molly tried to look away as well, since it was a little intense to be this close to him.

"You'll need a chest protector before you put your jacket on," he said as he stepped away.

Sherlock walked back over to where the gear was kept and grabbed one. He came back over to Molly with it. "Here. Put this over your...chest."

Molly was pretty sure she actually saw color rise in Sherlock's cheeks as he handed the plastic armor over. As Molly slipped it over her head, she laughed a little. "What's this for? You planning on stabbing me in the chest?"

He raised one eyebrow. "You can never be too careful...jacket next, then your glove, and then helmet."

He came over to her again once her jacket was on, and zipped it up the back.

"How come yours fastens in the front?" she asked, noticing the difference, and the fact that he'd been able to fasten his without any assistance.

"Just personal preference. This is my own gear, and I prefer to be able to dress myself."

"Fencing is a sport where you'd have to be with another person anyway though."

"Yes it is. Doesn't mean you have to be friends," he said with a smirk.

"Well aren't you making me feel good?" she giggled. "I'm beginning to wonder if you've brought me here to get rid of me!"

Molly had finished putting everything on including the helmet, and then Sherlock handed her the sword she'd be using.

"Shall I just start trying to stab you then?" she questioned.

"You could certainly try, but you'd most likely fail. Perhaps you should let me teach you a few things first. You need to have the proper stance. Look where my feet are. And you'll want your dominant foot to be the one leading in the front. So for you that would be your right foot."

"Like this?" Molly questioned, getting her feet situated.

"Right. Now when you move forward or backward, you need to lead with you heel. Your feet should be hitting the floor heel to toe, like this." He took a few steps back, then forward again. "Try not to run around wildly. Use controlled motions."

He stationed himself perfectly and lifted the corner of his mouth in a small smile. "There, now try to attack me."

"Um, ok..." Molly moved forward a couple steps and pushed the tip of the sword forward at him. In a split second, Sherlock's own sword shot out and blocked Molly's, which threw her off her stance.

"Could you see what I did? It's called parry. I'll attack you, and you try it."

Sherlock's sword darted forward and Molly tried to duplicate the way he'd deflected her attack, but she immediately felt the tip of the weapon push into her stomach and she gave a small squeak.

"You're too fast!" she said with a laugh.

"I've been doing it for years. Come on, try again." He waved her forward.

They went back and forth several times, moving around the room a bit. Sherlock got her again and again, and parried Molly's attacks every time. She was beginning to get discouraged. Was the point of this exercise to simply make himself look good?

"I think you've killed me several times over, Sherlock. I'd have bled out by now," she said pulling her helmet off.

"Good thing it's the sport of fencing then, and not actual sword fighting." He took off his helmet and smiled a little smugly.

Molly narrowed her eyes at him as she had an idea. She pulled her hair out of its elastic and stretched her arms and twisted her torso a little. She ran her hand through her hair and pulled it over to one shoulder, then she looked back at Sherlock.

"I'm not sure how correct this chest protection feels. I don't know, what do you thing? Do you think I have it on properly?" she asked innocently as she adjusted the offending gear through the jacket.

He tipped his head and pursed his lips at this question and looked back at her while taking a step closer. And then slowly, his eyes moved from her eyes, downward to the area in question. The second she saw his gaze falter in distraction, she lunged. Molly pushed the tip of her sword into Sherlock's chest, causing him to halt in his tracks and look down at his "wound" in shock. Then he looked back up at Molly and shook his head while clearly trying not to smile.

Molly didn't conceal hers, and grinned at him. "I had to get you once."

"Somehow I don't believe that's an approved method of fencing technique," he said as he playfully pushed her sword away with his own blade.

"I'm at a disadvantage! I had to use my own...methods. I thought you'd appreciate my creativity!" she said with a laugh.

"Creative perhaps. But now you'll be at an even greater disadvantage. Now I know what you might try in the future and I won't fall for it."

"You're awfully confident. I'm sure I could come up with lots of ways to distract you."

"Don't be so sure," he said as he stuck the swords back in their place by the wall. "I have excellent control over my mind. It doesn't exactly wander where I don't want it to go."

"Maybe you're missing out. It can be fun to let your mind wander sometimes."

Sherlock sat down on the bench where Molly was now also. "Not for me. My mind has to be controlled. It can literally be running a mile a minute in a million directions if I'd let it. That's why I have to avoid distractions. And I have to catalogue everything I learn very carefully. That way I can easily locate it whenever I need it."

"You're brilliant," Molly said softly. It wasn't so much a compliment. She just spoke the words that were forming naturally in her own head. That's all she could think as she listened to him talk, and it was what she thought lots of times as she listened to him.

He eyed her in a sideways glance. "Thank you."

"No, I mean it. You probably don't even need to be here at Oxford anymore. No wonder you get bored. You must get bored with all the rest of us idiots!" She smiled while nudging him with her elbow.

Sherlock cracked a smile. "Only _some_ of the time. Sometimes you're all rather entertaining. Idiocy can be great fun to watch." And then they both began laughing.

His mouth stilled again soon, and he looked over at her. They eyed each other for a moment. It was the first time he had looked at her, really looked at her, without an "important" reason. Her hair fell smoothly over her shoulder, her brown eyes sparkled, her nose turned up in way that was surely considered by most to be attractive, her cheeks and said nose were a little pink, and she bit her lip lightly to still her fading laughter.

It was strange, but he didn't mind looking at her. She wasn't doing anything particularly fascinating. But it wasn't unpleasant to simply watch her. He didn't feel any surge of emotion come sweeping over him the way that it was described in ridiculous poetry. But it was...comfortable. He frowned, almost imperceptibly, and wondered why he had begun looking at her in the first place.

He noticed her eyes falter a bit then, as she realized that his own continued to sweep over her. Her eyes went down to her hands in her lap for a moment, then back up to his.

"Well, that was fun. Think I'll get out of all this protective gear now. It certainly served me well! Would you mind?" She turned slightly, motioning toward the zipper on the back of the fencing jacket.

Sherlock obliged without a word, then stood up to get his own off as well. Once they were back to their normal clothing, they left the gym and began walking back to the college housing.

"You have family?" Molly asked as they walked.

Sherlock wondered why people felt the need to ask such questions. Small talk certainly was small in its level of interest.

"Parents, and a brother. An older brother."

"Ah. He nearby?"

"Not too near thankfully. Though he still manages to keep an annoyingly close eye on me. He's getting heavily into government. He'll be running things soon, give him a few more years."

"An older brother in government who likes to keep a close eye on you...hmm, that's a particularly troublesome kind of sibling isn't it?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Oh you have _no_ idea!"

Molly spoke without Sherlock's prompting, perhaps being wise enough to realize that he wasn't going to ask her the same question like most people would.

"I have my parents and a sister. My sister is a couple of years younger than me. We're very different too. She's closer to my mother, and I'm more like my father. My father's been sick the last year or so with cancer. But he's getting better." she said, her voice rising significantly in hopeful tones. "The doctors think he'll improve now. He's so excited that I'm becoming a doctor. He's always happy to hear about how hard I'm working here at school."

_He's sicker than she's willing to admit._ Sherlock noted to himself. _She'd rather speak of it optimistically, hoping that will make it true._ Sherlock wondered why people insisted on deluding themselves so foolishly.

"I think he'll have quite a laugh when I tell him I tried fencing tonight!" she continued, and smiled at Sherlock. "You were nice to ask me...I know you weren't planning on going anywhere tonight."

Sherlock shrugged. "No. But that's not to say I minded. I always enjoy fencing, and the company wasn't unpleasant."

Molly laughed a little. "High praise Sherlock! I've moved on up from not a moron, to being not unpleasant. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that's much of an improvement. Sort of the same thing I'd say."

He barely turned to look at her, keeping his pace as they continued walking. But she saw him smile a little in the dark.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and Molly was a little relieved when they returned to their building. Although she thoroughly enjoyed being in Sherlock's presence, she felt a weight on her shoulder as she carried most of the burden of conversation. She could see that this was simply who he was, and it would probably never change much. It was though, as she reflected, a small price to pay for his company and attention.

As they neared the door to Sherlock's room though, Molly became nervous again. Now she had to decide what she would do when they said goodbye. _Don't be a baby! Make a move!_ Jane's words echoed in her head. She wasn't really imagining that Sherlock harbored feelings for her, but there was always the chance that if she made the first move, perhaps he would jump on board. It was a long shot, but this would be the time to do it. At least they'd just had a nice time together and he was in a good mood. If she waited too long, she could be kicking herself later when he was with someone else, always wondering what if...

Sherlock opened his door and stood in the doorway, facing her and leaning slightly on the door frame.

"Well that was interesting. I suppose I should thank you for making me do...something tonight."

"And just think, you've saved all experiments for the rest of the weekend! What could be better?" She smiled happily. "I hope you'd like to do this again some time. I liked it. I'm terrible so far, but I'd love to keep practicing and hopefully get better. So I can beat you one day, if not for anything else!"

"Seems fair. I wouldn't be opposed to that. Just tell me whenever you'd like to go."

"Ok, I will then." She stood smiling, hoping he wasn't about to simply shut his door in her face.

_Do it do it do it!_ she screamed at herself inside. Molly bravely kept her eyes focused on his, and she took a couple of steps forward so that she stood much closer to him. He didn't back away, but looked down at her, clearly wondering what she was about to do. Molly swallowed nervously as she placed a hand on his chest. His eyes darted down to where her hand rested and then back to her face. Before he could say anything, Molly stood on her tip toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She lingered just enough to make herself clear, and pulled away ever so slowly. Slowly enough to give him time to turn his head if he didn't want just a kiss on the cheek...but he didn't.

Molly looked up at him when she'd stepped back and let her hand slide from off his chest. She didn't pay attention to the fact that his heart had started hammering against her palm. She was too negatively distracted by the look on his face. Although he didn't look upset, he certainly didn't look happy either. He blinked and pressed his lips together before opening his mouth to say something.

"Er, Molly...I think you should know that I'm not exactly in a position to be...involved with-"

"Oh! Oh, you have a girlfriend!" she said with eyes wide and cheeks going pink. "Stupid me, of course you'd already have a-"

"No, Molly, I don't have a girlfriend," he cut in. "What I actually mean is that _this,"_ he gestured back and forth between them. "just isn't really my area."

Molly nodded slowly. "Are you saying you're...gay?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not really making myself clear am I? No, I'm not gay. I'm just not-"

"Oh it's ok, really! I think I see," she sputtered out nervously. "You mean you're just not interested, in me, I mean. It's fine, it's ok. I didn't mean to be too pushy. I just thought hey! Why not? But I can back off, it's no problem...oh God, I'm going to kill Jane. I'm not usually like this!" Molly pushed hair back from her face using both hands and exhaled forcefully, trying to let the embarrassment out.

"Molly, relax, you didn't shove me up against the wall. You only kissed my cheek. I do believe I'll live to tell the tale. Oh don't look at me like that, I don't actually mean I'd tell anyone! Who would I tell?" he countered with a slightly amused expression. Then he continued.

"Look, there's nothing _wrong_ with you. I'm not insulting you. I simply choose to avoid that type of...distraction in my life. It could interfere with my education, and perhaps my future work. I'd just rather avoid it altogether."

"Oh, well I suppose I see. So...have you _ever_ had a girlfriend?"

He tilted his head in thought, then snapped it back down to look at her. "Last I checked, no."

"Huh. I see...well, that's fine. I mean, maybe you're the smart one. Well, you are the smart one. I think we've already established that..." She rocked back on her heels, wondering where to go from here.

"Can we still...work together?" he asked quietly with one eyebrow raised in question.

"I'd like to, Sherlock," she said earnestly, looking back up at him with brown eyes full of understanding, but also hope. "Really, I would. More than that though. I'd actually like to be your friend."

He swallowed visibly, and narrowed his eyes at her while processing this. "I don't typically have...friends. I think you've seen enough of me to come to easy conclusions as to why."

Molly nodded solemnly. But she continued to stare into his steely blue and green eyes. "You're good at deductions, so...does it look like I care?"

To her surprise, his mouth began to spread in a slow smile. "No, it does not. You probably will though, given enough time."

"Well I guess we'll just have to see about that." She took a step back, ready to take her leave.

"I suppose so...goodnight then, Molly."

"Goodnight, Sherlock. Thanks again."

He watched her walk away, and wondered why he'd just allowed that to happen. He considered the possibility that this was a huge mistake, allowing this girl to be his friend. It probably was. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.

After all...she had managed to get him some lovely tissue samples.


	6. Chapter 6

-Bart's hospital 2010-

Molly walked into the lab and jumped as she flipped the lights on. There stood Sherlock leaning on the lab table with his hands positioned under his chin in the typical way.

"Good Lord, Sherlock, you scared me. You could have turned the lights on at least."

"No need," he replied evenly, not even opening his eyes. "I'm thinking."

"I can see that, yes," she mumbled as she set her things down. "Working on a case?"

"Mmm."

"John busy?"

"With some woman from a coffee shop we went to. Waste of time," he said in a tone of boredom.

"Doubt he thinks so."

Suddenly Sherlock let out a sort of growl, making Molly whirl around to look at him again. He let his arms swing down by his sides and made a face of frustration. He sighed and stalked around the lab before speaking again.

"Can't figure this one out. I'm going to have to delete something! Too much useless information!"

Molly looked down at her hands, chewing her lip. "Don't delete anything important by accident," she said meekly.

" _Important_?!" he spat out indignantly. "I don't delete important things!"

Molly nodded and looked over at him only briefly. "Well, I just thought, you know...maybe you do delete things that matter sometimes, just to make room for other things. Like perhaps you delete...older things, to replace them with newer things."

He didn't seem to acknowledge this comment as he clearly began thinking again. She couldn't help but feel like it was obvious he'd deleted their history from his mind. Of course he knew who she was and how they'd known each other. But he certainly didn't act like it, and he didn't talk about it...any of it. She could very easily imagine him deciding that those months weren't important or useful enough to take up space in that palace of his anymore. What could he use it for really? There was no value to it anymore, not in his eyes at least.

"Ah! That's it! Of course! I knew it would all make sense eventually," he suddenly exclaimed as he began to rewrap his scarf around his neck and make for the door to the lab.

"Off again then?" she asked quietly.

"I am indeed. Be back later though I believe. Experiments to check on after I wrap up this case."

"See you then-"

But he was already out the door and walking down the hall, leaving Molly to work alone. Alone with her lovely memories that she was afraid only she bothered to keep alive.

* * *

-Oxford University 2002-

The next few weeks carried on almost the same as before. Molly was in classes almost full time and studying very hard. Her head was often reeling from the overload of information and memorization. She'd been warned that this was the lot of a first and even second year medical student. But now she was living it, and it was indeed taking quite a toll.

The dynamic had changed a bit with Sherlock. Though she'd initially felt that she'd made a huge mistake in her "making a move" on him, it had turned out to be somewhat the opposite. It seemed to ease them past some discomfort. Molly's feelings were far from platonic, if she was honest with herself. And Sherlock wanted a mostly business relationship. But they were both well aware of what the other wanted and expected. There was no mystery. Molly felt at ease now to inflict trivial activities on Sherlock from time to time. He was certainly comfortable enough to ask her for numerous things he wanted to use in personal experiments, so it was a trade off. Molly would occasionally insist he come with her to a lecture that didn't interest him much. (One was on the solar system, and he sat complaining about how useless the information was the entire time. "deleting this, and deleting that too, oh I'm just going to delete this entire hour!") Or she would enlist him in helping her cook something in the kitchen. (This presented difficulties, as Sherlock was constantly trying to veer from recipes to see what sort or "reaction" could be created by combining strange things.) One time she even made him fold laundry with her because it was what she happen to need to be doing at that moment. He helped a little, but mostly just talked and talked about a small case that a teacher had asked for help on. Apparently some students had been cheating and he needed to find out who the instigator was.

Sherlock would never admit that he was enjoying this friendship that had developed. He simply fell into a pattern, a pattern that involved this small young woman who seemed to fit strangely well into many areas of his life. She didn't really change much. She was simply a presence, where there hadn't been one before. He began to expect her more than ask for her to be around. They would wander into each other's rooms at random times and ask for a small favor. Sherlock would often just invade Molly's space for the purpose of talking at her. He needed no help to think, but he would readily admit that it was helpful at times to think out loud. He could do that on his own, but he preferred to have some sort of audience, even it it wasn't a particularly interested one. He would often come to the conclusion of a problem simply by reclining on her tiny bed and talking as she shuffled around the room or sat on the floor studying.

Molly felt difficulty sometimes in balancing her friendship with Sherlock and with the other group of students she got along with. Sherlock had zero desire to enjoy the typical group activities that they were interested in. And none of them were too excited about spending time with Sherlock. So usually she'd spend time with either Sherlock or her other friends. She was pretty sure that things could get ugly if she ever convinced him to tag along. She could only imagine the things that could come out of his mouth as he looked each unsuspecting person up and down and proceeded to detail all sorts of insulting and embarrassing information about them. And she'd be the one to face the consequences as well.

She already had to face the jokes and questions about him from others. It became obvious that she had managed to make friends with one of the only students who didn't make friends. He was so unusual that it was difficult for people to imagine why she wanted to spend more than the necessary amount of time in his presence. But for Molly, she couldn't understand why there weren't more people drawn to him like she was. She was very sure that one day, the world would know and love Sherlock Holmes the way that she was getting to. She hoped she'd be there to see it happen.

The first semester was rapidly coming to a close and that meant plenty of exams looming ahead of Molly. She was trying her best to remain relaxed and trust herself that she'd do fine. She was a good student and she was smart and she was driven...at least that's what she made a point of repeating to herself regularly. It drove her a little crazy that Sherlock never seemed phased by exams. In fact, she began to register the fact that she never saw him with a book of any kind outside of the class rooms.

One night Molly was feeling particularly stressed in the process of studying for an anatomy exam that was happening the next day. She didn't want to study alone. She was tired of talking to herself out loud. She knew her other friends were studying together, and she didn't want to be involved in that. A big group did nothing to help her concentrate. Molly grabbed her armful of study material and marched down to the first floor of her building and used her foot to knock on Sherlock's door.

The door flung open to reveal Sherlock standing in his sweats and tee shirt and giving her a questioning glare.

"Er, can I help you, Molly?"

"Yes you can, please. I need to study. You need to quiz me, or listen to me, or something...can I come in?" she asked peering out from the pile in her arms.

Sherlock answered by stepping to the side and sweeping his arm in the direction of his room.

"This will work fine since I happen to be studying as well," he said calmly as he lay back on his little bed.

"Oh marvelous! Ok, let me just get things set up here." Molly sat on the floor since there wasn't nearly enough space for all her materials on his sorry excuse for a table. She handed him a sheet of paper.

"There. Now I'm going to recite the list to you and you can just tell me when I miss something."

"Fine."

Molly began speaking and every couple of moments Sherlock would interject with a "nope" or a "missed one" and Molly began to get discouraged.

"Ok, fine! Just give it back! Never mind, I wont do this one yet. Back to the books first. I'll try again in a bit." Molly sighed loudly and began paging through a textbook.

The silence went on for quite a while as Molly read and read. The words began blending together on the page and in her head, and after about a half hour she closed the book with a thump and closed her eyes as well. She rolled her head around, trying to loosen the tightness that had developed in her neck as she had been bent over for so long. How appropriate, she thought, as she was studying the muscular systems of the human body! Then she looked over at Sherlock's bed.

There he lay, not moving a muscle. His eyes were closed, and at first Molly thought he was sleeping, but clearly not. His hands were pressed together with the tips of his fingers resting perfectly underneath his chin. What in the?...

"What?" he suddenly said, making Molly jump.

"I didn't say anything."

"You stopped studying and you're staring at me." He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look at her. "What is it?"

"Wow...um, I was just wondering what you're doing. I thought you had said you were studying too."

"And I am," he said simply, returning his gaze upward and closing his eyes again.

Molly looked back and forth confusedly. "B-but you don't even have any books. And you're not making any notes. What are you studying?"

"It's all up here," he said tapping his temple.

"Oh...well then why do you even need to study?"

Sherlock sighed, sounding exasperated now. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, now looking down at her.

"It may be in my head, but I have to organize it. I have to catalogue it so that when I'm sitting there taking an exam, I can easily locate it and use it...I thought I explained this to you already."

"Well, you said you do that. But I didn't know you could do it with anything. Even all this crazy information!" and she gestured to the books around her lap. "That's such a wonderful gift. I wish I could do that," she said wistfully.

Sherlock slipped from his place on the bed, next to her down on the floor. "Don't be silly, anyone can do what I do. It's a capability of the brain, you just have to harness it and use it. I may do it more unconsciously than other people, but it's possibly for almost anyone."

"I'd love to think that was true," she said quietly, not sounding terribly convinced.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, then he began shoving most of the books aside. He picked up the sheet of the vast list of muscles Molly would be tested on.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Molly, I want you to close your eyes."

"W-why?"

"Just trust me. Turn this way so you're facing me, that's it. Now close your eyes and listen to the sound of my voice. I'm going to read you the list of muscles according to each area of the body. Now...I want you to create a room in your mind."

Her eyes shot open again and she frowned at him. "Wait, what? I thought we were going over muscles. Why am I making a room?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He set the paper down over his crossed legs and reached out, placing his palms on each side of her face. Molly was pretty sure her heart stopped.

"Do try to focus. I told you to trust me Molly. I'm trying to help you. You're creating a literal space inside your memory. Rooms and buildings and spaces of any kind that can be filled with information. And any time you want, you can revisit that room or space. I have so many they can't be counted now. It's like a...palace now. But each room has a theme, and is filled with the information on that subject. You can do that for this test. And once you learn how to do it, you can keep doing it, with anything."

Her eyes darted over his face as he spoke. "Ok. I'll try it," she said softly.

"Good...now close your eyes again."

His hands slid away, leaving her face feeling cold as her eyes shut. But then he began speaking, which quickly warmed her again. He was speaking slowly and deliberately in a low voice. She wished she wasn't supposed to be focusing on studying right now...but Molly listened. She did what he instructed. She did make a room. Every time he spoke a word of phrase, it was placed there. Sometimes it was in the form of a piece of furniture, sometimes it was a picture that she hung on the wall, or a rug on the floor. The room was covered soon, floor to ceiling.

"That's it. That's the list. Now I'll ask you questions and you can go back there and find the answers."

"Oh God, moment of truth," she murmured, and took a breath.

But it worked, much to her delight. She had spent enough time in that room already while building it, that it wasn't much of a task for her to climb right back in and find all the things she'd just placed there. Every time she had a difficult time finding something, Sherlock would say "what did you make it look like?" and she'd remember. It was nothing short of amazing.

Her eyes shot opened, and a grin spread on her face. He smiled back in a satisfied sort of way as if to say, I told you so.

"I could kiss you right now," she said, and meant it.

The smile on Sherlock's face dissolved and turned to a look of mild fear as his eyes widened.

She smiled again. "Just kidding." _Not really though_. She really could have. Between his holding her face like that, and the sound of his voice, and the fact that he'd just made her life about a million times easier...she could easily have jumped right on top of him.

"That was incredible though. I'll use that over and over, I just know it. You're the best." She did the only thing she felt she'd be allowed. She reached over to where his hand rested on his knee, and gave it a brief squeeze.

He looked a little...embarrassed? Maybe even nervous, as she let go of his hand and replaced the distance between them again.

"Well, it's nothing. As I said, it's your own brain's ability. You just had to know how to use it." He got up from where he sat, placed his hands on his hips, and looked around the room for a moment rather pointlessly.

"It's important to stay focused on that room right now though. Especially since it's a new method for you. You shouldn't keep talking. Here, why don't you lie there." He gestured for her to get on the bed that was now empty against the wall.

"But, don't you want to-" She got up, but hesitated at first to actually lie on the bed.

"No, no. I was done anyway...good, just stay still. Lie back and close your eyes. I won't talk. Just stay in the room you made and walk around like you're in a museum. Don't think about anything else but what's in there. Don't stop till you know it absolutely by heart. So that you can picture it all even without closing your eyes."

"Then what?" she asked, opening her eyes momentarily, to look at him as he sat in the small chair by his table.

"Then you can put the kettle on. Because I think you owe me a cup of tea." He ginned in the most beautiful way.

The grin spread on her own face as she turned her head back toward the ceiling and then shut her eyes. And then she did spend lots more time in this room she'd created so carefully. It was beautiful really, all the facts and words that had seemed so dull on paper. What she'd never tell Sherlock though, was that every word and fact was heard as well as seen by her while she traveled through that room. It was heard in his voice. And he was there too, in that room. He was everywhere, walking with her, watching her silently...

...And he was watching her. Sherlock sat for over an hour, watching her lay peacefully on his bed and traverse through her own memory. He was struck by the fact that this was something he'd done countless times, and yet had never seen anyone else do. Her eyes darted occasionally, like she was in the midst of rem sleep, and her lips moved a bit sometimes, in and out of her mouth. Her fingers ran along the lines of the blanket's edge. Her breathing was steady and relaxed. He wondered if this was how it looked to other people when he was in his own mind palace. Somehow he doubted it.

This was surely more beautiful.

* * *

-Bart's Hospital 2010-

Hours later Sherlock had come back and silently worked in the lab on his own projects. Molly was there, but there was no real interchange happening between them. She was busily completing pathology reports and was later cleaning up.

She wondered how she'd managed to so quickly fall back into the give aspect of their relationship. There used to be a give and take between them. Now it was rather one sided. She gave, and he took. Simple really. Simple and maddening. Especially when she considered the fact that he'd very genuinely given her so much years ago.

She had become lost in thought for a while, and hardly realized when Sherlock had finished what he was doing and was again putting his coat on and getting ready to leave. She realized he was heading out eventually, but couldn't muster the energy to utter a goodbye at that moment. She expected to hear the opening and closing of the door, but she only heard it open.

"To answer your question," came the slow baritone, "no, I didn't."

"What?" her head shot up. "I-I didn't ask you anything."

"Yes you did...before," he said, in a softer tone than she was now used to hearing. Then he spoke again, after a moment's pause.

"Years ago...I didn't delete it." He was still looking down, pulling his gloves on his hands.

Her mouth opened as if to say something, but she couldn't find any words to push out, so she closed it again. She just stared at him from across the room, her face began to feel hot.

"I didn't delete any of it," he said again, more clearly, then looked up at her briefly.

She offered a tight smile. Not because she wasn't happy, but because she felt a lump actually threatening in her throat. She nodded in understanding. Because words seemed impossible at the moment, as well as unnecessary. He nodded as well, just once, and then he let the door swing closed as he left the lab.

It was the first time she'd seen him again. Not Sherlock the chemist, or the genius, or the brilliant detective...but Sherlock, who had been her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 and 8 will be uploaded tomorrow! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a film in this chapter! It's all one scene, but I think it's sort of a fun one. :)

-Oxford University 2002-

Molly tucked her legs underneath her on the small sofa in one of Exeter's commons rooms. She pulled the blanket she'd brought with her up higher around her. And she took another bite of the Heath Bar ice cream she had with her.

There were a couple other students there as well, but they were at the other end of the room on their lap tops. She didn't mind them being there since they were quiet and minding their own business. She could still relax. And she needed to. There was a lot going against Molly in that moment. She'd had a fight by phone with her sister. Becky had argued with their parents and Molly was fool enough to take their side. Her sister had clearly been hoping for an ally, and was furious when she didn't get one. Molly had also had a brief relationship with another student named Jonathan, but it had just ended. She'd thought things were going well, but he said he didn't want anything serious and had dropped her just like that. On top of all that, Molly's monthly was fast approaching. So she was feeling all the more emotional about her lot in life.

She thanked the entertainment gods that she could at least enjoy a bit of escape this Saturday evening. She was thrilled to see that Titanic happened to be playing for all the sad sorry folks like herself that weren't out having fun on a Saturday night. Sure, it was sappy. And a case could be made that some of the dialogue was a bit cheesy. But she was in the mood for a bit of drama that wasn't at all connected to her life or anyone else's that she knew. She had gotten a ways through her movie when she heard the familiar voice behind the sofa.

"Ah Molly! There you are."

Molly sighed especially loudly as he came round the sofa to stand facing her. He should be awfully thankful the telly had just gone to commercial. Or else she was liable to smack him.

"Yes, _what_ is it, Sherlock?!"

Sherlock frowned in surprise at Molly's tone. That was a new way for her to speak to him...

"Well I see that you are free this evening and I was hoping you'd come with me down to the basement in our building. I need to bring a couple of my experiments upstairs and I may need some assistance. I can carry them of course, but perhaps you could just get the doors. And of course I could certainly use your help to analyze my findings as well."

"Sorry, what?!" she said glaring up at him.

His eyes narrowed and then looked around, wondering if she'd really needed clarification about such a simple request.

"Er, I said I wanted you to-"

"No no! You said I was free this evening. What exactly makes you think I'm free? What do you think I'm doing right now?" She raised her eyebrows while setting her mouth sternly.

"Well, you seem to be watching telly...I would hardly call that a pressing engagement."

"That doesn't mean that it isn't what I _want_ to be doing right now does it?! I happen to be watching a film that I'm right in the middle of! And you'd better be prepared to shut up when the commercials are over." She turned her gaze back at the screen.

"So...you're saying you would _rather-"_

"Obviously, Sherlock! Why don't you try a little deduction and figure out why I'd like to stay here with my movie, blanket, and ice cream." She crossed her arms over her chest protectively.

Sherlock looked a bit sheepish. "I already did...the ice cream, pajamas, very slightly reddened and puffy eyes are a pretty dead give away. In addition to the fact that hormones may be worsening the effects of this break up."

She looked up at him and glared daggers, then back to the screen again.

"It's for the best really, Molly. That Jeffrey fellow-"

"Jonathan!"

"Oh fine! _Jonathan..._ was completely monopolizing your time. He left you time for little else but eating and sleeping and classes!"

"Meaning I wasn't at your beck and call for the first time in months!" she spat out.

Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it again. Best not to respond to that little comment.

"Anyway, it was a tedious enough month," he said quietly.

"It was only two weeks, Sherlock!"

He frowned and tipped his head, thinking back. "No...surely it was three at least."

"Two."

He shrugged. "Have it your way...anyway, I think you'll find that doing something intellectually stimulating is far superior to whatever it is you're watching."

"Oh no, not at all! Actually the last thing I want is anything intellectual right now. I'd like something mind numbingly simple and unrealistic. Well, not that this isn't based on a true story."

"What exactly are you watching anyway?"

"Titanic. Shut up, Sherlock! Shut up! I don't want to hear it! Whatever you have to say about the film, you can keep it to yourself."

His expression had said it all of course. Any man was likely to roll his eyes at the idea of close to three hours of drama and romance. But for Sherlock, it was especially unpleasant.

"Well, the fact that you know what I'd have to say speaks volumes about your awareness of the quality of entertainment you've chosen. Glad I don't have to waste my breath!" He huffed a little as he stuck his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown.

Molly sighed. She sneaked a sideways look up at him. He looked pretty pitiful. He was clearly disappointed at her rejection. She was irritated at herself at the fact that she even felt sorry for him at all. But she couldn't just sit there and enjoy the film if she'd hurt his feelings. He wasn't stalking off either, and this made her think that he was simply in need of company. She'd realized that this was often the case with Sherlock, though he'd never admit it aloud. She was not about to give up her bit of fun this evening, but she thought it couldn't hurt to make him at least feel wanted...

"Sherlock?" she began, in a sweeter tone than the biting one she'd been using. "I'd actually love it if you'd stay and watched with me."

"What?" he asked, his brow scrunching up.

"I'd love the company. I would though appreciate it if you would keep at least 95% of your comments to yourself so that I can enjoy the movie, no matter how silly you think it is...can your experiments wait? I promise we can do something _intellectual_ tomorrow. I just need a little break for a couple hours. Can you maybe do that for me?" Although Molly was sure that the whole damsel in distress act wasn't terribly effective when dealing with Sherlock, she did try to look at him with pleading eyes. Eyes which he had already deduced had been doing some crying in the last twenty four hours.

His eyes searched hers, and she saw him falter in his irritated demeanor. He looked like he actually felt sorry for her. He rolled his eyes and crashed down on the sofa next to her.

"Fine! But I can't keep my mouth shut the whole time!" he warned.

"Notice I said 95% of your comments," she said smiling. "Have you seen this by the way? Because it's already half way through."

"Unfortunately I have. My parents made me go see it with them. God, that was an awful outing...what?"

Molly shook her head at him. The film was just coming back on then, and she couldn't help but be glad the "sketching" scene was over. Though she knew the car scene was coming up since Jack and Rose were now in the process of running through the bowels of the ship.

Molly began eating her ice cream again and saw Sherlock eyeing it. She held out the small container she was eating out of with the spoon stuck in it. He looked at it, then looked at her. He considered saying something about the sharing of a container and eating utensil, but then he thought better of it. The ice cream did look good, and he hadn't eaten much today. And besides, it was just Molly...

Sherlock took the offering and began eating the ice cream. Molly couldn't help smiling at the rather foreign and adorable sight. He was eating ice cream and watching telly with her...she wished she could take a picture of the normalcy of it all.

A few minutes later Rose was dragging Jack into the backseat of the automobile, and Molly's face got very red. She prayed Sherlock didn't look at her.

"Unrealistic. Logistically, that activity would prove very difficult in the backseat of a vehicle of that size," he muttered, handing the ice cream back to Molly for a turn.

Molly couldn't help snorting out a laugh, which seemed to make Sherlock happy. _See,_ he though. _It's more fun when I'm pointing out the movie's flaws!_

They continued watching, passing the ice cream back and forth between them. The ship hits the iceberg, and then they watched as Jack is wrongly accused of stealing Rose's necklace and then handcuffed to the pipe.

"That water is so cold!" Sherlock later states forcefully as Rose wades around in it, making her way to free Jack. "She wouldn't even have the ability to move around properly once she was in it that deep!"

"She's highly motivated, Sherlock! Shut up!" Molly warned, flinging her arm out and making contact with his chest.

"Pfft...motivated," he mumbled. "She's known him a matter of days."

Molly ignored his complaints and focused on the movie.

Not too long after, the music swelled and the emotions increased as Rose dove back onto the ship because she couldn't possibly be separated from Jack, then running to him at the base of the grand staircase.

_"You jump I jump, remember?"_ Rose said, reminding Jack of what he said at their first meeting. Then commercials came back on, putting the movie on hold.

"He's right...she is stupid." Sherlock said evenly. "She could have been halfway to safety by then!"

"She loves him too much, Sherlock! She couldn't leave him, taking the chance that he wouldn't make it. If you feel that way you can't just walk away without a care in the world if you're not sure the person will be safe."

"I could," he said, almost cheerfully.

Molly whirled her head to face him, mouth agape. She stared at him till he finally looked at her. She spoke then with fierce conviction.

"You're lying," she challenged.

Sherlock let out a short laugh and shrugged. "Believe what you like, Molly Hooper. But I'm not plagued with sentiment the way other people are."

"Plagued? Perhaps the better word would be blessed," she said bitterly. Sometimes she hated how he could so easily make her feel small, and make their friendship seem insignificant.

They watched most of the rest in silence. Molly had naturally sunk a little to the side and a bit of her weight was resting on Sherlock's arm. She didn't care. There wasn't anything else to lean on. And she almost enjoyed the idea that she would make him just a bit uncomfortable and nervous.

Breaths began to catch in Molly's chest as she watched Rose desperately attempt to rouse Jack from what she obviously hoped was sleep. And she felt herself dissolve as Rose realized that this was a sleep he'd never be woken from. Molly was trying to gulp back the tears, but was doing a terrible job. She wiped at her face and eyes with the back of her sweatshirt. She knew it was silly to get so worked up over this scene, but she also knew it was also cathartic. So she let it out.

She could see Sherlock watching, somewhat unfazed by the film's emotions. Though he kept glancing down at her, seeing how overly moved she was. He let out a couple exasperated sighs, but was probably doing a lot to control any sarcastic comments from actually coming out.

A new wave of emotion wracked Molly's body when the elderly Rose stated her lack of surprise that there was no record of Jack Dawson being on the ship at all. She said he existed now, only in her memory. This statement produced a forceful sob from Molly. She clutched her sweatshirt over her mouth as tears streamed down her face. She could swear that in that moment she felt this fictional character's pain as if it were her very own.

Sherlock looked down a her covertly as her face was becoming drenched in her own tears. He wondered what he was supposed to do. Was he supposed to continue saying nothing? Was she expecting him to offer some sort of comfort? She had asked him to stay, so perhaps she was expecting something. He felt more than uncomfortable watching her be so upset. He didn't know at all how to handle it. He was grateful as the film finally came to a close and Molly sniffled the remainder of her tears away. She reached forward and grabbed the remote, shutting the telly off.

Molly took a deep breath in through her nose and blew it out from her lips as she let her head fall back against the sofa. "Oh my, I needed that. I think that did wonders. Having a good cry."

Sherlock frowned at her. "A _good_ cry? Seems a strange way to put it."

"It's just cleansing, that's all. I had emotions in me that needed letting out. So I cried for them instead," she said gesturing to the telly. "It works...I know you don't understand."

"Well you'd be crying a lot more if it was realistic. In reality, Jack never would have happily allowed himself to die of hypothermia without a fight. He'd have forced his way onto that floating door, even at the expense of Rose. It's human nature."

"Sherlock, come on! Human nature is also to keep the people we love safe. If it's strong enough, it can override our desire for self-preservation."

"Well, as I said, I'm not like that. Lucky for Rose she wasn't stuck with me," he smirked.

"That's because you don't love Rose." Molly said more softly, "You'd sacrifice yourself. You'd do it in an instant, if it meant saving someone you love. I know you would. And nothing you try to say can convince me otherwise."

They stared at each other for a moment. Sherlock wondered how this woman could be so very sure of that. Something that even he himself wasn't convinced of. How could she believe him capable of such a thing? Something so... _good._

His expression softened a little as he drew a breath and then spoke in a low voice. "You think far too much of me, Molly Hooper. You'll end up disappointed one day."

She shrugged, still looking into his eyes. "Maybe...or maybe one day you'll surprise yourself." She got up and stretched.

"Well, I'm off to bed. A cry like that can take a lot out of you. Besides, I've got to get some rest. There's a mad man who wants me to spend Sunday afternoon with him doing intellectually stimulating things." She gave him a sleepy smile. "Thanks, Sherlock. You were great company. Even when you were trying not to be."

Molly gathered up her blanket and shuffled out of the room which was now mostly dark, as they were the only ones left there at that hour. Sherlock was left sitting alone in the deafening silence.

He wasn't emotional, he reminded himself. But there was something disturbingly haunting about the words that Molly had just spoken to him. _You'd sacrifice yourself. You'd do it in an instant, if it meant saving someone you love._ And although he still didn't believe it, it would certainly stay with him, safely locked away and remembered...

For many many years.


	8. Chapter 8

-St. Bart's Hospital 2010-

Molly was feeling particularly mortified in Sherlock's presence that day. He wasn't saying anything or acting any different, but she was absolutely certain he must be thinking that she's a huge moron. The whole mess with James Moriarty had just recently been put to rest, and Molly could hardly believe her eyes when she'd actually seen the criminal on the telly and found that he was none other than Jim from IT.

She would freely admit that she'd never had stellar judgment when it came to men. But this one took the cake. She actually dated a man who was, in reality, a psychopathic criminal mastermind who, at the very least, had the intent to harm her friend. And he almost got John Watson killed as well. She shuddered at the thought. Although the idea that anything would happen to Sherlock was more than her mind could handle, it was almost worse to imagine John being hurt or killed by Moriarty. Because Sherlock cared so much about this man who was now clearly his best friend. It would hurt him beyond words if anything happened to John. Even though he may not admit it.

As Sherlock shuffled around the lab that day, Molly was barely able to stay on task. She kept stopping and pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose, and taking deep breaths, and closing her eyes. She was struggling with the question of whether to get over the whole mess, or to say something to Sherlock. Should she say she was sorry for having any part in the fiasco? Did he even expect her to apologize?

"Molly, you're worrying inside your head particularly loudly today," he stated with exasperation from behind the microscope.

"Oh um, sorry," she said wringing her hands. She supposed this made her decision a bit easier since he'd broken the silence. May as well say something now.

"Look um, I just want to say I'm sorry for the whole...Jim thing," she said quietly after she'd come over from across the room to stand nearer to where he was.

He glanced up briefly before returning his gaze to the microscope. She swore that sometimes he simply used it as an excuse to avoid looking at people when they were speaking to him. Nobody could stare into a microscope lens for _that_ long.

"Not quite sure what you're apologizing for, Molly. You didn't exactly strap bombs to John, or any of those other people, or set snipers on us."

"Well I know. I just, I still feel badly. I mean, I introduced you two. Right here, in fact!"

"Mmm, yes. I recall. Still though, he used you to meet me. It was no fault of your own. All you did was display some lack of judgment in the man you were dating...not exactly the first time. At least you only had a few cups of coffee with the man."

"Oh yes! That's all. That's _all_! It never went anywhere serious. I'm so glad."

"I'm glad as well," he said simply. Then he got up and put his coat on. "I actually have a couple errands I need to get done. I'll be back in a few hours. I'd dearly love a cup of coffee when I return if you don't mind."

"Oh...I suppose. Even though you could pick it up on your way back down to the lab... " Suddenly she wasn't feeling so sorry for the selfish man anymore.

He stopped to look back at her as he was leaving. He shook his head and made a tsk tsk sound with his tongue.

"Have you ever thought that perhaps I'm simply reinforcing a lesson you learned the hard way many years ago? And here we were, _just_ discussing your bad judgment in men."

Molly stared back at him narrowing her eyes, not quite sure where he was going with this. Then he continued.

"Haven't you learned not to let a man get your drink for you while he's out of your sight? Always best to get it yourself. Safety first Molly."

He gave her a slightly teasing smile as he left the lab.

* * *

-Oxford University 2002-

Molly put her little white sweater on over the blue sun dress that she was rather proud of. She fluffed her hair that she'd taken the time to actually style instead of putting it in a bun or ponytail. Molly grabbed her mauve colored lip stick from the desk and applied some in her mirror. She smiled at the final product and grabbed her bag.

Molly went downstairs and was still mulling over the idea of whether or not to try and get Sherlock to come to this party. She'd like him to go of course, but she was always worried about the end result. And of course there was the issue of him not even wanting to go in the first place. But she eventually decided to just ask. The worst that could happen was that he'd say no. And besides, even if he didn't come, she'd have made sure he at least saw her looking nicer than usual.

Molly neared the door to his room, and could hear the sound of classical violin mucic. She had recently discovered that he played. He was very good. She'd told him she wished she could hear him play more. But he of course exclaimed that he didn't play for the benefit of an audience. He played for himself and for the calming effect it had on his mind. So sometimes, if she passed his door and heard him playing, she would sit there in the hallway for a few minutes. Just to enjoy the sound.

She knocked loudly enough on his door so that she'd be heard over the instrument. She heard him stop playing and then a second later the door opened. He was in his pajamas and dressing gown. His eyes surveyed her, seeing that she wasn't looking like she normally did. He came to the quick conclusion that she was making an effort to look pretty this evening for some reason.

"What is it, Molly?" he said, in a rather curt tone.

"Hi. Lovely playing...so, I was just on my way to the common room. There's some students having a little party. I was thinking maybe you'd like to come. Maybe you could just throw on some clothes and come over for a bit," she said with a hopeful smile.

He stared at her, beginning to frown. "What makes you think I'd want to come to a _party?_ "

"Um, I dunno. Maybe because it's...fun?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not for me. Good night then." he began closing the door.

Molly held her hand against the door to stop it. "Wait! I'm sorry, I know you don't usually go to stuff like that, but I would enjoy having you there. You don't have to mill about and talk to everyone if you'd rather not. You can always just...stay with me."

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, even if I wanted to do anything with you, it certainly wouldn't involve being at some party with a bunch of idiots. And obviously I had plans to be alone this evening," he said, gesturing to his attire and holding up his violin.

Now it was Molly's turn to sigh in frustration. "Ok fine! Sometimes it's just nice to have company, that's all!"

"No, no. I don't really need people like others do...being a sociopath and all."

She did a double take. "I'm sorry, _what?!_ "

"High functioning sociopath. I'm not exactly planning on killing anyone...not at this point at least," he said matter-of-factly.

Molly shook her head in confusion. "Sherlock, you are most certainly _not_ a sociopath! You can care about people!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What exactly is so bothersome to you? Is it the fact that I'm a high functioning sociopath? Or is it the fact that you have decided you'd like to be a friend to me? Not quite sure you like what you signed up for now, do you?" His tone was biting.

She looked at him, horrified. "I'm not sure I care about any of it right now. You're clearly in a bad mood for some reason. And maybe I'm glad that I have a party to go to, where I can talk to people who will be nice to me." She spoke back in her own slightly biting tone.

"Trust me, Molly, there's plenty of other people like me out there. They just choose to hide it for the sake of making a pleasant first impression."

"That's fine, Sherlock! I'll take that gladly! I'd be happy for a little fake politeness right now! Certainly better than talking to you!" She was beginning to deeply regret asking him to this stupid party.

"Wonderful! Not sure what you need me for then," he replied sarcastically. "Off you go! Enjoy your evening with fake people!"

"Fine!" she spat out and turned on her heels, hearing him shut the door as she left.

She stomped out of the building and across the lawn into the nearby building where she could already see lights and people moving around. She heard the sounds of laughter and saw smiles. This was what she needed, she thought. She just wanted to have fun and enjoy the company of some nice people. Tell jokes and be silly and laugh. She wanted to have people hug her and say it was a pleasure to meet her, even if they didn't care that much. And for them to tell her she looked stunning in that dress, even if she didn't.

And most of all, she wanted to stop thinking about Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

It was just past midnight when Sherlock was setting down his violin for good. He'd been playing off and on for the past four hours. He was irritated. Irritated at himself, irritated at her. He'd been in a bad mood earlier, after having an argument by phone with his brother Mycroft. But having Molly waltz in and expect him to drop everything and skip off to a party was all he needed to set him over the edge. Did she know him at all? Why would he want to spend time with all those people and watch them act like idiots? And he certainly had no desire to see Molly reduced to that level.

The young woman who he enjoyed spending time with was Molly Hooper the medical student. The smart, hard working, rather serious Molly. He wasn't comfortable with the dress wearing, done up, party Molly.

Sherlock was just about to attempt to go to sleep when he heard an uneven knocking at his door. He walked over and looked through the peep hole. All he could see was brown hair...Molly.

Sherlock opened the door and as he did, Molly stumbled into the room and almost landed on the floor. But she righted herself and then leaned her back on the wall.

"Ah, Molly, back again." he said with a yawn.

"Again?" she said rubbing her head. "Was I here before?" She looked at him in some confusion.

He took a look at her and her demeanor. She was holding onto the wall for support, hair was messier than before, sweater was gone, and so were her shoes...someone had been drinking too much.

"Charming...you're drunk," he said as if he was her father.

"I am not!" she said more loudly in a hurt tone. "I just- I don't feel good..."

"How surprising. And what exactly are you doing here?"

"Well...not really too sure. Um, oh yes! Your room was closer." Her body swayed a bit as she stopped leaning her weight on his wall.

"And where are your sweater and shoes?"

She looked at her feet and arms in confusion and shrugged. "I...dunno." She put her palm on her forehead again as she swayed some more.

"Um, Sherlock, can I maybe lie down? I really don't feel good." she slurred.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and extricated his bed that he'd been sitting on. "Fine. But if you're going to be sick, you'd better tell me! I don't have any extra clean linens for the bed right now!"

Molly only nodded in answer and began making her way across the room. But she lost her footing halfway there and Sherlock had to reach out quickly to actually catch her. He got her round the waist from behind and kept hold till she stood up straight again.

"My, I am dizzy," she said with a little laugh.

"I noticed." He kept one arm around her back as she continued making her way to the bed.

Once she got there though, instead of lying down, she turned around to look up at Sherlock. Her eyes were rather glassy, but she stared into his deeply as she continued to sway a little. He wasn't sure of how lucid she was by this time, and knew it would be best to get her to lie down. So he wrapped his hands gently around her forearms and eased her down onto the bed. Molly seemed to misunderstand him though. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she got on the bed, forcing him to sit on the edge next to her.

"Um, Molly..." he began to protest as he felt her fingers in the hair at his neckline. He reached around his head and grasped her wrists, easily removing her arms from off his neck. She smiled in a groggy way and leaned in. Not exactly what he was going for, seeing as he'd just gotten her to let go of his neck.

Molly simply leaned her head against his shoulder. He still had her wrists in his grasp, and wasn't quite sure what to do. He was about to instruct her to lie down again, when he felt her take a deep breath and then she slowly lifted her head back up to look at him.

"God you smell good," she breathed.

"Well, I do wash myself regularly. With soap. So...thank you?" he frowned. Then his frown deepened suddenly...What was he missing? Something wasn't right here. Something didn't quite fit...

"Molly, say something," he commanded, and put his hands on her face.

"Um...hi?" she said slowly.

He let go of her face and took hold of her wrist again. "You're not drunk are you?" he said sternly. There was not the faintest smell of alcohol on her breath.

"What? Who said I was drunk? I only had half a glass of wine, I swear!" she whined and clutched her head again.

"Pulse is slowed," he noted to himself. "What did you take, Molly?" he said cupping her chin and examining her eyes.

"Take? What do you mean? I had half a glass of wine and some crisps. I didn't take anything...I had tea later."

"Who gave you the wine?"

"Dunno...oh I did! I poured it."

"Who gave you the tea then?"

"Oh um, Roger. Roger Lawless... _r_ _eally_ hot," she said, and her eyes fluttered closed a bit.

"Focus, Molly!" he said louder. "Look at me, did you see him make the tea?"

"Um...don't think so...we were at his room."

Sherlock began to feel sick in the pit of his stomach.

"He offered me a drink, but I said no- didn't want to get myself all drunk an' silly...so he offered me tea. I had some, and then he said he was going to the toilet and he'd be back. Told me to stay there...I started to feel woozy though. Really awful...I snuck out. Didn't want to ruin it by being sick. Probably still wondering where I am..." She looked rather ashamed.

"Good. Good girl, Molly." He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he got up from the bed and grabbed the trousers, shirt, and socks that had been folded up on his chair. He disappeared for maybe a minute into the bathroom and came out clothed. He then quickly put his shoes on that were by the door.

"Now listen, Molly, you're going to hate me right now, but I can't let you rest. We need to go for a drive. I'm taking you the the hospital."

"What? Wait, why? I just want to sleep...please!" she protested as he looped her arm around his neck and hoisted her up to stand again.

"Sorry, I need to get you checked by a docto,r Molly. I believe you've been drugged."

"What?! I couldn't have..."

Sherlock made his way out the door and grabbed her bag on the way. They would need her information at the hospital. He also took his wool coat and wrapped it around her shoulders since it was still cold. They got as far as the front steps of the building and Molly began to trip more.

"Ok, just hold onto me, it's just a couple small steps," he assured her.

They barely got to the bottom staying upright. Sherlock remembered she wasn't wearing shoes. "Sorry, Molly, but I have to do this." He looped his other arm behind her knees and picked her up in his arms. She didn't even bother to protest and she let her head fall to the side on his shoulder.

He got to the sidewalk on the main road and looked for a cab to flag down. When he saw one, he let her down gently and waved till it stopped. He loaded her into the cab, climbing in after her. Sherlock gave instructions to the cabbie and they headed to the hospital.

He got her out of the cab at the emergency entrance with some difficulty. He told the cabbie to wait for him, then scooped Molly up again and took her inside. Once inside, he told the woman at the desk what was going on. By this time, Molly was only half awake. The emergency staff took one look at Molly and didn't make them wait. They were ushered right into the back and she was placed on a gurney. Nurses immediately began starting an IV on Molly and getting fluids going. The doctor pulled Sherlock aside.

"Did you see any of this?"

"Didn't have to. She was acting drunk, but doesn't smell of alcohol."

"Could she have been taking something...recreational?" he asked gently.

"No!" he said angrily at the doctor. "She absolutely couldn't have been! Now you are wasting your time talking to me. Go take care of her and test her for GHB and benzodiazepines!" He turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" the doctor called after him.

"If she needs a ride when she's being discharged tomorrow, call the number for Sherlock in her mobile. If she doesn't remember how she got here, you can tell her I brought her...but you can also tell her I had some incredibly important things to take care of, and I assume I'm leaving her in good hands."

"That you are...thanks for bringing her," the doctor said, a bit baffled.

Sherlock nodded, and left the hospital quickly. He climbed back into the waiting cab, and took out his mobile...

* * *

Molly sat at the piano in the common room by herself the next night. She didn't bother to turn the lights on. She felt a little better in the comfort of the dark and moonlight, with just the sounds of music. She played the chords slowly, more slowly than the actual pace of the song, and the sounds echoed through the empty room. She was a little sleepy still, but she was feeling fine again. The hospital had discharged her this afternoon and given her strict instructions to rest. She'd spent as long as she could in her lonely little room though, and then decided to have a walk.

After a minute into the song, she heard a throat clear in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. Sherlock stood there, hands clasped behind his back, in the same attire she'd remembered seeing him in before the party the previous night. She turned back toward the piano and began the song again, playing at the same slow pace. She heard him come up behind her and then take a seat next to her on the bench.

"What's that you're playing?" he asked softly.

"New song. You wouldn't know it would you? Stuck to your classical violin," she said with a smile. "It's by Coldplay. It's called, The Scientist." She glanced over at him, giving him a soft look.

"The Scientist? Hmm...I didn't realize you played."

She shrugged. "Well, maybe we don't know absolutely everything about each other." She could hear the singer's soft spoken lyrics in her head as she continued playing.

_I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart. Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions..._

"Molly...are you ok?" his voice rumbled inside her in harmony with the feel of the musical chords.

She smiled a bit. "Yes, Sherlock. I am...It was GHB. Not a lot of it though. He either didn't give me much or I didn't finish the tea. I can't remember honestly. I was fine by this morning. They kept an eye on me for a few more hours, then sent me home. I'm rather dreading telling my parents. Afraid they'll demand I come home...though at least I can tell them the danger has been removed." She gave him a sideways glance.

_Nobody said it was easy, it's such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard..._

Sherlock sat there silently. She could see him in her peripheral, just watching her fingers play on the keys.

"How did you do it, Sherlock?"

He shifted in his seat a bit and cleared his throat. "To what are you referring, Molly?" he asked slowly.

_I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart..._

She sighed and chuckled a little. "Funny story I heard once I got back here this afternoon. Everyone's talking about it. Apparently Roger Lawless was found outside the college's main office this morning. He was beaten up pretty badly, and had been tied up. Also happen to have on him a signed confession of what he did to me last night, as well as the rest of the GHB in his possession." She glanced at him again. "I'm not an idiot, Sherlock. Nobody else knew what happened till later today. And I'm pretty sure that the hospital staff wasn't responsible for what happened to Roger."

Sherlock drew a slow breath and let it out. He realized there was no point in pretending.

"So...how did you do it?" she pressed again.

"Well, not alone obviously. I did in fact have half the men's rowing team backing me."

Molly's eyes widened. "What? How did you manage that in the middle of the night? I didn't think you were friends with those fellows."

"I figured a little something out for them last year, so they owed me. I called in a favor and they were happy to oblige."

"So, they beat him up?"

Sherlock then turned and smiled a little at her. "No. That, I needed no assistance with. They were however helpful at making sure he signed that document, and showed us where the rest of the drugs were, and didn't get away."

She pressed her own lips together as she looked back at her hands on the keys. She felt her breathing becoming unsteady.

_Running in circles, chasing our tails. Coming back as we are..._

"And, why did you do it?" she whispered.

Sherlock swallowed, and paused a minute.

_Nobody said it was easy. Oh it's such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard. I'm going back to the start._

"He shouldn't be allowed to stay here if he's a danger...could happen to anyone," he said quietly.

She nodded slowly. "Well that's quite a public service. The entire college is in your debt I suppose."

"No, not really. Suppose that's not really why I did it...I didn't do it for them."

Molly's breath caught as she continued moving her hands on the black and white keys. She nodded again, and sniffed a little. "Yeah, I know...thank you," she said and looked at him as she played the last notes and let her hands rest on the keys.

"Not much of a sociopath are you?" and she nudged him with her elbow.

His mouth curled in a small smile. "High functioning, don't forget. And perhaps I just happen to have a few normal tendencies."

"Or you're normal, with a few sociopathic tendencies," she countered.

Sherlock tilted his head. "Agree to disagree I suppose."

"It's ok, I don't really care what you prefer to call yourself, Sherlock. Doesn't change who you really are. And right now you're exactly who I'd like you to be...my friend."

Sherlock didn't feel at all like denying that in the moment. He simply smiled back at her and didn't even make a fuss or stiffen up when she put her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. Her other small hand covered over his larger one, and she realized she could feel cuts that lined his knuckles from what he had done the previous night. They sat there for a minute or two, then Sherlock broke the silence and spoke again.

"Molly?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind playing The Scientist again? I rather liked it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been a big fan of that song. And Coldplay in general. What a wonderful band! The Scientist happened to be in the list of popular songs when I looked up releases for 2002. I listened to a piano cover of the song on YouTube and I could so perfectly picture Molly playing it during this final scene. Music is always such a fabulous inspiration! Hope you all enjoyed it. ;)
> 
> I'll plan to upload chapters 9 & 10 tomorrow! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of important connections to the canon of the show. Hope you like my take on things! ;)

-St. Bart's Hospital 2012-

Molly wasn't surprised really. She'd been well aware that this could be the outcome when all was said and done. But as was often the case, she'd built her hopes up too much, believing that everything she did would have a much more positive effect than it did. She was positive to a fault, and she knew it. It made for a much more crushing disappointment at times.

Disappointment that had, in this case, come in the form of heartless insults from the man she still had it bad for. She wondered what she'd ever done to deserve his treating her like that. She'd been nothing but an almost unconditional friend, both now, and years ago. Why did he feel the need to cut her down like that? She'd been briefly elated when she'd gotten the first genuinely caring apology as far as she could remember. But then he'd rushed off. She knew it wasn't something he's consider worthy of ever discussing again. He probably thought he'd already moved heaven and earth in the act of apologizing and giving her a little peck on the cheek. And in a way he had. She realized the significance of that act for Sherlock Holmes. So she'd do what she often did. Let it go.

But it had been weeks now. And granted, lots had happened for him. A woman he was clearly somewhat close to had died, and then Molly heard some weeks later that she had died again...for real this time. But be that as it may she had hoped he'd say something, _anything,_ about the gift.

Molly had put a lot of thought into it. She had agonized for weeks. Not wanting to overdo it, but also not wanting to downplay the fact that this was the first gift she'd given him since...a very long time ago. She couldn't think of one thing that Sherlock _needed._ And there weren't a lot of things he wanted apart from the usual thing. Cases, more cases, and body parts. But she gave him body parts all the time, so it would hold no special significance to the occasion. What she had eventually decided on had been a brave move. But she had been feeling more confident lately. He wasn't quite as rude to her. And there had been scattered times over that past year or so when he had at least acknowledged their past. So she had thought that this may be a valid time to give him just a little, tiny push. He wasn't big on nostalgia, and certainly not sentiment. But deep down, she believed that if he saw what was in that box, it would stir _something_ in him. It had to.

And yet, not a word. Not one, every time she had seen him since that night. He and John had come in that day and Sherlock was examining a body that was involved in a police investigation Lestrade had recruited them for. Sherlock spouted off a lot of deductions, more to himself than anyone else, not making much eye contact. He got what information he needed. Then he finally looked at Molly.

"Well Molly, and I may be back later. I'll have to see where the rest of the case leads us." He spun around and was out the door.

John looked at her sheepishly, having become accustomed to his friend's social flaws, but never exactly becoming comfortable with them. "Thanks Molly. We appreciate it."

She smiled back, in understanding. "I'm glad you do, John," she said quietly.

"He does too, Molly. He's just really... _really_ bad at showing it."

A little silence hung in the air. Molly knew that John was perceptive enough to realize that the fallout in her heart wasn't quite over from the event weeks before.

"It's ok, I know...I know him. I mean, I did. Well, I do now too...I don't know, never mind," she said with a little nervous laugh and a wave of her hand.

John showed a second of confusion, but just as he was about to leave Molly stopped him short.

"John, wait! Um, can I just ask you a silly question? I uh, I was just wondering if you happen to know...did Sherlock ever open the gift I gave him?"

John's face fell. "Oh...I was actually praying you wouldn't ask me that question." He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"What? Did he throw it away or something?" she asked nervously.

"No, no. He still has it. But, no...he hasn't opened it. It's been sitting on our mantel." John looked at her apologetically and raised his hands in surrender. "Please don't ask me why, because I couldn't begin to tell you! Your guess is as good as mine. I asked him once why he had it up there and he almost bit my head off, so I haven't brought it up since."

Molly wrung her hands a little and shifted her feet. God, she felt so stupid. What did it even matter what was inside that box? He'd probably never even see it. Eventually he'd get tired of seeing the thing on his mantel and he'd throw it out without even opening it. She was sure of it.

"Um, ok well...thanks, John. I just, you know, wanted to know." She tried to put on a cheery face as she zipped up the body bag and then pulled her gloves off. She saw him hesitate to move from where he was. He was clearly worried about how she was feeling at the moment.

"It's ok, really! It's about what I expected. It's fine...I'm fine." She forced another tight smile.

John himself was a bit lost for words. So he just nodded and smiled sympathetically again at her. He turned to leave and catch up with Sherlock.

Once the door shut, Molly broke down in the quiet of the morgue. It was too much. This was all too much. Usually she was able to brush it off. Brush off whatever he said or did and then just move right along and enjoy any little tiny glimmer of good that came from being in Sherlock's life. But not anymore. She finally grieved that day. How appropriate, she thought. She was in a place of death, and she was finally truly grieving this loss. The loss of a friend. She told herself over and over that day, as the tears poured out, that it was gone and done and they'd never go back. She needed to stop thinking that she somehow still meant anything to him. Even that the memory of what they had, whatever that was, meant anything. She did _not_ count. Nothing about her or what they had in the past counted to him. She believed that the sooner she came to terms with that, the easier her life would be.

She dried her tears eventually and got up from the floor to carry on with her day. She laughed to herself very briefly though. And a little bitterly. How ironic, she thought, that the sad little unopened box now resided on his mantel? It was somehow even more painful to think that the gift she'd recently given him that had meant so very little, was now so close to the gift she'd given him many years ago...that had clearly meant so much.

* * *

-Oxford University 2003-

Molly faltered and tumbled to the mat with a grunt as she had sloppily tried and failed to avoid Sherlock's sword. She pulled the helmet off and sighed in exasperation. Sherlock would normally offer a hand and pull her back up, but he observed that she seemed to want to stay where she was. He sat down on the mat as well then, and took heavy breaths as he also pulled his helmet off.

"You're truly awful today. Not much different from the first day you tried this."

She let out a laugh as she let her head fall backward, and it echoed through the gym. "Sometimes I'd really like to slap you."

He laughed a little too. "Maybe someday I'll let you."

"Oh really, you'll _let me_ will you?"

"That's right. It is me after all, Molly. Do you really think I won't see it coming?" He raised a smug eyebrow at her.

She gave him an irritated, but playful look and shoved him. His body barely moved at all. He looked triumphant as he let out a smooth chuckle.

"You see? You can't really surprise me, Molly."

She shook her head and pressed her lips together. "You're lucky I respect you, Sherlock Holmes." She almost added, _because if I wanted to, I could very much surprise you right here and now._ One look at him told her that she didn't really need to add that last part, because he was controlling a slightly embarrassed smile and she could see his face turning just a bit pink. Time to change the subject...

"Sorry, I'm so lousy. I'm just a little burnt out. Finished my essay finally and now I've got to pack up to leave tomorrow."

His head shot over to look at her. "Leave? Where are you going tomorrow?"

"Easter break. Aren't you going home to family?"

"Oh, no. I went home on the last break. I try not to make too much of a habit of that. I'll just enjoy my solitude here...perhaps I'll break into the supply of cadavers."

Molly let out a peal of laughter again, which she didn't see made him smile. "Don't you _dare!_ I know you could too!"

"Well I'll do my best, if only not to implicate you...it'll just be my last resort, in the case of extreme boredom."

"That's not terribly comforting, Sherlock, considering your tendency to boredom...you'll need some kind of company." He didn't notice the sneaky gleam in her eyes.

"Company? Pfft...I'm the last person in the world to need company," he said, not very convincingly. "I'm perfectly happy being alone. Better that way. Less distractions."

Molly smiled at him as he looked off across the gym, and enjoyed the fact that this was so very untrue. She was pretty sure that he knew how silly it sounded coming out of his mouth as he reclined next to her on the mat and was clearly enjoying simply being in her presence. He still took the trouble to make statements like that to her. But they were becoming almost humorous. She resisted the urge to question every comment like that, because she knew she'd push him away if she made too big a thing of it.

After they were leaving the gym and walking back to the housing, Molly cleared her throat and spoke again.

"So, I was wondering if I could just stop by your room tomorrow before I leave."

He looked at her questioningly. "Not a problem. What for?"

"Just, something...not a big deal, but I just had a small gift I wanted to give you." She tried to be casual.

"Gift? Why?" he said, looking baffled.

"Nothing really. Just made me think of you, and I wanted to give it to you before I leave. Thought you'd like to have it, while I'm away...I'm going to stop talking because I'll end up giving it away!"

"Ok...well I suppose I'll just have to find out tomorrow."

Molly couldn't help thinking she saw the faintest hint of excited anticipation in his eyes that sparkled in the light of the street lamp they passed under. She resisted the urge to take hold of his hand in that moment as they walked along. She had to resist a lot of little urges like that these days. They were becoming almost constant when she was with him. The two of them were becoming closer, despite what Sherlock would probably say. She could feel it, even if he didn't.

They got back to their building and Molly said a quick goodnight to Sherlock as he went in his door. She was almost anxious to get to sleep, because the idea of giving Sherlock a gift that she was sure he'd like was an enticing prospect. She was very much looking forward to the next day.

* * *

Molly wanted to get herself all set to go before venturing downstairs. She also realized that Sherlock probably wouldn't be up too early. It was around eleven in the morning when she had her two small bags ready to go by her door and was all dressed. After she paid Sherlock a visit, she planned to head right to out to grab a cab. She took the plain brown box that held Sherlock's gift and happily went down the stairs.

She knocked and fidgeted with her ponytail as she heard him unlock and open his door. He was still in his pajamas and held some coffee.

"Want some?" he asked as she stepped in past him.

"No thanks, I had some already in the kitchen. I don't think I need to be any more jittery." She laughed nervously.

His eyes drifted to the square box she clutched.

"The mysterious gift I presume," he said with a half smile.

"It is, yes...here, you can have it now." She thrust it out toward him.

He set his coffee on the table and slowly took the box from her hands, looking a little unsure. He frowned.

"A bit heavy," he said as he moved the box around in his hands.

"Oh no, don't start trying to guess! I'll kill you if you figure this out before you open it!" She laughed and gestured for him to move things along and just open it already.

Sherlock didn't argue. He slowly lifted the top off the box and then moved a bit of paper aside to reveal the gift inside. His features contorted briefly, then froze. He reached inside to lift the gift out and hold it as he set the box down. Molly watched him in silence as she bit her lip, waiting for a reaction of some kind.

"It's a...skull," he said quietly as he examined what rested in his palms.

"It is," she said with a smile.

"You gave me a skull," he stated simply, still looking at the object.

"Um, yes." She eyed him nervously, her smile faltering a little. He continued to look at it and his face was positively unreadable. Her face began to fall, and she barely had the bravery to utter one more word. But she spoke again.

"You...don't like it?" she said, not much above a whisper.

That was when his eyes shot over to hers. He looked hesitant, like he didn't really know what to do or say. He took a step forward. Then he looked as if he wasn't sure why he'd done that. He looked back at the skull he held, then at Molly again.

"Molly, I..." he swallowed briefly and licked his lips. "I love it," he said softly.

The corners of her lips rose as she bit her lower lip again, becoming a little embarrassed now at his reaction. He loved it.

"Really? Oh, I'm- I'm so glad. I was so sure you would. I just couldn't help thinking you should have it when I found it. It was actually being thrown out."

"Thrown out?" he exclaimed in horror as he turned it round in his hands. "Who would throw such a thing out?"

"I know. They didn't need it anymore. It was literally in the bin to get destroyed...but I saved it for you."

He shook his head a little. "I must say, Molly, I have to take back what I said yesterday. You most certainly _can_ surprise me." He smiled in a really lovely way.

"See that?" She rubbed her hands in triumph. "Don't ever doubt me again."

He looked unsure again and glanced around him, and then he suddenly took a couple steps more toward her. She was barely able to figure out what was happening before he placed a hand on her shoulder and then leaned in to press a quick kiss on her opposite cheek. "Thank you Molly," he said as he pulled his face and hand away and then stepped back again.

Molly knew she was absolutely beet red, and there was nothing at all she could do about it. She clasped her hands together in front of her, not sure what to do with them now. She tried to steady her breaths.

"Oh um, you're very welcome!" her voice cracking a little, making her wince inwardly. She looked up at him nervously, suddenly unable to keep her gaze from his mouth. She kept dragging her eyes back up to his, which did little to ease the butterflies.

"So I sort of thought he could keep you company," she said, realizing that she hadn't yet told him the real reason for the gift.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but tilted his head and looked at her in question.

"I know sometimes you just need someone to talk to, or talk at. Don't deny it! And since I won't be around for the next couple weeks, at least you'll have someone to listen to you...besides the fact that it just seems wrong that you wouldn't have a skull. You know, being you."

He smiled anew and then walked over to set the skull on the table by his bed. He stood back and looked at it, then back to her.

"I may end up preferring his company, Molly," he said with a sarcastic smile.

She took the now empty box and threw it at him with a laugh. He didn't flinch as it hit his chest and fell to the floor.

"You see, I kindly gave you that one!" he teased.

"Git!" She continued to laugh as she turned and walked over to the door. "I'd better go. I'd like to get to my parents early as I can."

Molly opened the door and stepped out, then turned to face him as he stood in the doorway. "So, bye then. I guess I'll see you when I get back."

There was a slight awkwardness then, as they both stood there. Normal friends would hug. But that seemed a bit out of the question. But there was something hanging in the air, and Molly wondered if Sherlock could feel it like she could. If he did, he wasn't showing it as he looked back at her evenly.

"See you when you get back, Molly." His voice sounded even a bit lower than normal. "And thank you again."

She nodded happily, then left. Molly was pretty sure that she'd never felt quite so happy after giving someone a gift. This high would last her quite a while. At least it would carry her through till the break was over...till she got to see him once again.

* * *

-221B Baker Street 2012-

Sherlock played slowly on his violin as he stood by the window and watched the rain hit the glass and slide downward. He'd been a little bored that evening and was still waiting expectantly for John to come home. He said he had some errands to run, but Sherlock was well aware that he probably had another date. Nobody goes to the corner store smelling like that and then stays gone for a full four hours. John was trying to spare his feelings, which was irritating in itself. He found the idea of John's regular dating supremely stupid, but it certainly didn't bother _him._ He knew everyone was walking on egg shells around him because of Irene's recent "death."

But he was perfectly fine. He had a flat mate now, which was more than he'd ever done in the past. And John seemed to put up with him rather nicely. And he had his work, which was most important of all. There wasn't anything lacking.

He set his violin down and flopped down into his chair and began speaking aloud. "And in the case of needing to figure anything out while speaking to someone, I don't even need John's constant presence. I can always talk to-" When his gaze fell to the usual and comforting place on his mantel, he froze mid sentence.

Normally he had no problem speaking at the lovely skull whose place had always been on his mantel, ever since he's had a mantel of his own. Except of course for the occasions when he had to find it from wherever Mrs. Hudson had hid it. He had, at least in his mind, separated the connection of this skull to the woman named Molly Hooper. It was his skull, and that's all he saw it as now. He looked at it tonight though and was struck by an uncomfortable pang in the pit of his stomach. Because he realized that he'd set the unopened red box right next to it.

Sherlock looked away, then back again. Then he got up and stepped over closer. He eyed the box for a moment.

"Oh don't look at me like that!" he growled at the skull. "I don't need to open this!"

Sherlock snatched the box off the mantel and marched into his bedroom. He opened his closet and tossed the box up on the top shelf, slammed the door and then stomped back to his sitting room and fell on his side onto the couch. He lay there for a few minutes, angry at the places he was traveling to in his mind palace. Finally he sat up again with a start. He looked across the room again at the skull.

"I'm not afraid of anything. I just don't _need_...whatever's in that box!" he said forcefully and then leaned his head forward and roughly ran his hands through the thick dark curls that graced his head.

"I don't!" he reiterated, looking up again. "I don't need it." He spoke the last words much softer and with much less conviction. His gaze went to the direction of the hallway, and his bedroom. Then back to the skull. He tried sitting back and getting comfortable again. He dearly wished he wasn't trying to stave off boredom this evening. If not, he wouldn't be so tempted...

He got up with a huff and pointed at the skull. "Let this be on your head!" he warned. Then he went back in his room and fished the box from the top shelf of his closet. He sat on his bed, examining the outside and then opening the little attached card and reread the words.

_Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly xxx_

He sighed slowly and began pulling the wrapping off. He felt the weight of the box and faintly wondered if it would be some small body part. A hand perhaps? He hoped not. Letting it sit for so long would not have done good things...he pulled the cover of the box off and pushed aside some red sparkly paper, to reveal the actual gift. His heart sank a bit at the sight.

"Oh God, Molly." he whispered aloud. "Why can't you just let it rest?"

Sherlock lifted the simple silver frame out that housed a picture of him and Molly from many years ago. They stood with trees behind them, and a pond nearby to the right. He wore a slight smile, and his arm rested around Molly's slight shoulders. Her smile, on the other hand, was bright and cheerful as usual. And although Sherlock was looking toward the camera, Molly was looking up...at him. He stared and stared at the image as if they were people he'd never seen before. He felt like they were.

He looked back into the box and saw a small note tucked underneath where the frame had been. He picked it up and read.

_Just remembering. Thought you might like to have this. It's the only picture of us I have from back then. Hope you like it. Love, Molly_

He placed the note back where it had been. He felt the frame in his hands as he continued looking at the picture. Then he put it back in the box. He quickly put the box into the back of the drawer in his bedside table. He shut the drawer, and sat there a moment. He got up and began walking toward his door, then stopped. He closed his eyes as he exhaled.

Sherlock went back over to the drawer. He opened it, took out the box and threw it on the floor. Then he placed the framed picture, face up, inside the drawer right in the front. Then he slowly closed the drawer again.

Sherlock went into the kitchen, threw the gift paper and box into the bin, then he swept into the sitting room again, pausing as he passed by the skull.

"Shut up. I am most certainly _not_ on the losing side."


	10. Chapter 10

-Oxford University 2003-

"Molly? Molly?" Sherlock repeated as they stood at the lab table. "Oh for God's sake! I'll get it myself!" He reached across her to grab the beaker he had been trying for.

"Oh what? Sorry, Sherlock, I was just trying to answer this text." She shoved her phone hack into her pocket, turning red.

"What's his name?" he asked flatly.

"Sorry? Who's name?" she said, face turning redder now.

Sherlock sighed as he ran fingers through his hair on the back of his head. "The man you're texting obviously. You wouldn't be turning so red if you were texting a member of your family or a female friend. You're going out with him tonight aren't you?"

Molly chewed her lip. She usually tried not to discuss dating with Sherlock. She was terribly torn these day. The truth was that she wanted to spend time with Sherlock. She wanted to _be with_ Sherlock. She'd probably run off and marry the man tomorrow if he asked. But there was also the reality that he didn't seem to be interested in anything that wasn't platonic. She figured she couldn't sit around staring at Sherlock forever as he traveled through his mind palace. That was pitiful. And her friends were assuring her that she was missing out on plenty of opportunities to meet genuinely great guys if she insisted on spending every free moment with Sherlock.

So Molly went on dates from time to time. Pretty much for only those reasons. Pressure from friends, and her own shame at her pitiful crush. Most of the dates didn't go anywhere serious. She'd only had the one boyfriend that lasted a couple of weeks earlier in the year. And a couple of guys had merited a second date. But she was time and again seeming to prove to herself that she wasn't in actuality missing much. Every time a date ended she'd yell a little louder in her own head, _maybe you should have stayed home and recorded experimental findings in the basement with Sherlock!_ And then the other half of her brain was screaming, _stupid Sherlock! He's totally got you blinded to all the perfectly normal men out there. He may have eyes, hair, body, brain, and a voice to melt for, but...but..._ and that's usually where the internal argument would end.

"His name, Molly?" he asked in an irritated tone now, from behind the microscope.

"Um, sorry, but why do you wont to know his name?"

He looked up at her as if she were a child. "Well, Molly, thankfully the last time a man drugged you and intended to harm you, you got away and were still with it enough to give me a name. What if we're not so lucky next time?" he raised his eyebrows in an _I know better than you_ sort of way, and looked back into the microscope. "Probably best that I know who you're with."

She sighed. She wanted to scream that he couldn't be halfway. If he wanted to keep her safe, then tell her to stay _with him!_ But she also wasn't in the mood to continue with an argument. "It's Lewis Dorsey. He's a first year medical student too."

"Haven't heard of him. That's usually good...call me if needed though."

She would have felt warmed inside by such a statement, but it wasn't spoken in a loving or caring way. He used the same tone he would to ask her to please carry that tray of growing fungus carefully.

"I'm very sure I'll be fine, Sherlock. I've been more careful lately. No drugging will be happening tonight. It would be awfully difficult since we'll be in a restaurant."

"Mmm, you're not decided as to where you'll end up afterward though." He looked at her briefly, raising a suggestive and knowing eyebrow.

Molly gave a small gasp and gaped at him. "Sherlock! You can't say- what makes you think..." She put a hand over her eyes, wishing that it was still as acceptable a way to hide as it was when she was three years old.

"You made a couple of nervous and embarrassed mannerisms after you said you'd be at a restaurant. You were omitting the possibility that you could end up somewhere else with him afterward."

"It's a first date, Sherlock! I would never- Oh never mind, I'm not having this discussion with you. I can do, or not do, whatever I like. You have no say whatsoever. Beating up one man who did something stupid doesn't mean you get to dictate my dating choices from here to eternity." She crossed her arms and prayed for the blood to stop pooling in her cheeks so she could look at him normally again.

As of right now, she was very much leaning more toward the _stupid Sherlock_ part of her brain. Which made her all the more determined to enjoy this date.

* * *

Molly trudged into her building and slowly shut the door making sure it closed all the way and locked. She looked at her watch as she began to head upstairs, and she rolled her eyes and groaned. It was only 8:30. Yet another failed date, and all she could say was that the restaurant had some good red wine. Lewis had a huge interest in politics, which did not fascinate Molly. But he was happy to talk about his views for a lot of the date. Apparently that's what Jane had meant when she'd assured Molly that he was really intellectual.

She unlocked her door, went in, and threw her bag and shoes down. Then she threw herself down onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. She tried to think objectively. Was she really just blind to any good qualities this man had because she was distracted by her already established attraction to Sherlock? No. There was nothing worthwhile about that man, she concluded after some thought. Some of the other men she'd dated had actually been better than this guy. A lot of the others, she was ashamed to admit, were simply boring. She cringed. _Boring_...she was beginning to sound like Sherlock.

She sat up with a start and groaned at herself. She pulled her sweater off, battling it the way she'd like to battle her own emotions, and left only her more comfortable tank top on. She tossed the sweater aside and tossed her skirt aside as well. She grabbed the sweat pants that had been waiting patiently for her return and slipped them on. She sighed contentedly. At least she could find comfort in pajamas, if nothing else.

Her eyes fell on the pile of clothes that were accumulating at the foot of her bed. May as well get some laundry done with a few hours of free time on this Friday night. She begrudgingly shoved clothing into her mesh laundry bag and set out for the basement. The lights to the rest of the basement were on and as she descended the stairs, she thought, _oh no._ She figured she may be able to slip into the laundry room and get the load started and then rush back up the stairs without being noticed. Because who else would be down in the basement on a Friday night?

Molly peered around the corner at the bottom of the stairs and she saw his back. Sherlock was kneeling and examining something, and she figured she could just duck into the laundry room unnoticed if she tried since it was directly across from the bottom of the stairs. She counted to three and then practically leaped the few feet from the stairs into the laundry room. She stopped once in there and listened. She could still hear him out there doing something. She happily started loading the washer and putting her coins in. She just had to start it running and then she could sprint back up the stairs unnoticed and avoid the unwanted deductions about her evening. But just as she turned the dial...

"Back early, Molly," the smooth voice announced in the doorway.

She grimaced to herself, then turned around and smiled quickly. "Yes well, the restaurant was close by. So...just getting some things done now." She hit the button with the palm of her hand and then grabbed her empty laundry bag prepared to slip past him and up the stairs.

"Bad evening, was it?" he said, and she could have sworn she heard an underlying smug satisfaction in that statement.

She stopped, partly at the statement, and partly because his tall form was blocking the doorway now. And why oh why, she wondered, did he have to look so good? She was pretty sure there wasn't anything she'd seen him look bad in. Dress shirt and trousers, fencing gear, flannel pants and a white tee shirt (which was the attire for this evening) all worked. Just fabulously. It only served to annoy her that this man who was so attractive to her and so incredibly unavailable was the one to announce happily that she'd had a bad date.

"I wouldn't say _bad,_ Sherlock. It was just short that's all. No need for you to pass judgment." She rolled her eyes.

His eyes widened. "Oh! I see. You dislike the fact that it's so clear to me that you've had a lousy date with Luke. Did you think it would be some sort of mystery to me?" He chuckled happily.

"Lewis! And no, Sherlock! I was well aware that it would be screamingly clear to you. Why do you think I was making an effort to sneak down to do some laundry before you noticed me?" Her expression became one of dejection.

"Oh relax, Molly, I'm not insulting _your_ dating abilities."

"Yes I know...I'm not mad at you really." She rubbed her hands over her face a little and then through her hair. "I'm just discouraged, that's all."

"Hmm," he hummed, looking serious for a moment. Then his eyes shot up in cheerful expectancy. "Want to help me carry some things upstairs?"

She stared at him while pressing her lips together, laughing inwardly. You'd think by his tone that he'd just offered her ice cream. Molly lifted her arms as white flags of surrender as she answered.

"Yeah sure, why not?"

She followed him and took a couple containers that he pointed out, and he took a couple more. They made their way back up to Sherlock's room and she stopped at the door. She looked hesitant, though he seemed to expect she'd come in.

"Do you just want to...take these?" she offered.

His eyes narrowed. "You are allowed to come in if you'd like. Unless you're busy...though I'm saying that as a formality. Clearly you're not busy."

Molly shook her head as she came in and shut the door behind her. "Sort of defeats the purpose of a formality if you explain it away right after."

"Ok. Next time I'll leave it out then. I'll say, you can come in, because clearly you're not busy."

And Molly couldn't help a laugh pushing its way past her lips. She continued to giggle for some reason as she then sat on his bed and let herself collapse backward. Then somehow the giggles morphed into groans.

"Are you ok over there?" Sherlock asked peering over at the strange sight. He was still setting the experiments carefully where they needed to be.

"Oh yes, just fine! I'm just getting really tired of dating. I'm a medical student. Women always talk about finding a doctor. Doctors are supposed to be smart and handsome with a great personality. And here I am in medical school with lots of men who will be this generation's doctors, and they're just horrid!"

"Horrid?"

"Oh yes. I lied earlier. The date was horrid. He talked about politics almost the whole time, and then he...well-"

"What?" Sherlock's voice suddenly became more forceful and his eyes shot up at her hesitation.

"No, no! Nothing like that, relax. It's just...oh you don't want to hear this," she said with a wave of her hand.

"Probably not. But you do actually seem to want to tell me. So, out with it."

Molly considered this. She supposed she was used to discussing the details of her dates with someone after the fact. Granted it was usually a close girlfriend. But she saw no reason why she shouldn't be able to discuss something like this with Sherlock. Seeing as he was so bent on keeping things platonic.

"Ok, um, well he kissed me when he dropped me off. And it was just very...unpleasant." She glanced nervously in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock's eyes shifted, considering this. After a moment, he nodded. "Well then, he's an idiot." He bent to the table again to write something.

Molly was a little taken aback by this response. Maybe this was just as helpful as if she were talking to a girlfriend. If Sherlock was planning on calling this man an idiot, it may actually end up improving her mood. She should complain to him about bad dates more often.

"Um, yes. Exactly. I just, I don't understand what's so difficult. And it's not as if that's the only bad kiss I've had this year either. I wish men weren't allowed to get past the age of eighteen without passing some sort of test. They should all be given a class or something. To avoid being...sloppy." She made a face of disgust.

Sherlock chuckled to himself.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," he said. "I just find it amusing that the vast majority of men are really that hopeless at observing."

"Observing?"

"Of course. And before you ask the obvious question, no. That does not mean you have to be looking at the person the whole time. There are other ways to observe. If you know what you're doing, that is."

Molly hoped she wouldn't regret what she was about to say. "So, you're insinuating that you know what you're doing?" she asked cautiously.

He looked up at her and frowned. "Of course."

Molly considered this. "Well, forgive my surprise, but you're not exactly an...experienced man."

Sherlock froze and put his pen down slowly. He looked at her and tilted head. "First of all Molly, it would be silly to assume that a person who doesn't do something presently hasn't _ever_ done it. And second, I don't need loads of _experience_ to know what I'm doing. It's a science," he stated confidently.

Molly laughed aloud. Sherlock's face fell in a frown.

"What is so funny?" he demanded, walking over closer from where he'd been standing.

"Oh sorry!" She tried to slow the giggles. "I just can't see it like that. So what? Are there graphs and charts and numbered findings in the room in your head on the subject of kissing?" She dissolved into laughter again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in irritation. "Of course there's science to it! People just have to make the effort to use their brain just a tiny fraction!" He paused a moment, thinking. "I'll prove it to you."

Molly's laughter stopped almost immediately. She looked up at him and frowned. "Prove it to me? What are you talking about?"

"I mean I'll show you."

Molly felt like she was suddenly outside her own body watching this scene as if it were in a film. She felt like she should move, but was frozen in place. She was afraid to move in case he wasn't serious. And afraid to move in case he was.

"A-and by _show me_ , you mean..."

"Yes! What else would I mean, Molly?" He gave her a look of exasperation.

"Oh, well, I don't know. I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Don't be silly, think of all the knowledge you could then pass on to the inept morons who you insist on continuing to dating." He grinned.

Molly looked at him again, the picture of a gorgeous man, to her at least. She considered why this was indeed a very bad idea. She couldn't really articulate to Sherlock the reasons of course. She was in deep enough with these feelings for him, and all he'd ever done was peck her on the cheek. It was over before she'd even realized he was going to do it. What would happen to her poor heart if he kissed her, _really_ kissed her. The vital organ could very well explode. And what if he was as good as he claimed?

Then again, Molly thought about the fact that this was very possibly a once in a lifetime opportunity. She was being offered what she thought was completely out of the question. She was sure it wouldn't change anything. But she could certainly imagine waking up tomorrow furious with herself if she left this room tonight having refused this chance. She was also reminded of the fact that it was already May. She knew Sherlock would be done soon and gone completely. She'd consciously avoided thinking about this. It was really awful to think about. She had so much more time left, and he would be gone for the rest of it. She would miss him terribly. Maybe she owed herself this.

"Well, sure. I suppose. In the same of science," she lied.

Sherlock smiled. "Good. Now, come here." He gestured for her to get up from the bed. "You stand right here."

Sherlock directed her to stand against the wall over by the door.

"Kisses aren't staged, Sherlock! You can't direct a woman in real life like she's an actress. I think you just lost a few points." She made mock notes on her hand, reducing his score.

"This is a controlled study, so I get to make adjustments. Besides, I was making an effort to be slightly more appropriate by not kissing you on my bed."

Molly felt her cheeks flush immediately. "Ah. Well, that's valid...so what else do I need to do?" she asked now feeling even more nervous.

"Nothing. You don't have to do anything else. Just stand there." He stood still maybe six paces away from her, now not moving. They looked at each other for a moment before Molly's nerves got the better of her again.

"Um, what's happening? Aren't you going to-"

"Relax, it's not a race. That's a mistake in itself. The moments before the kiss can be vital for observation. Because you have full use of your eyes, whereas later you'll be relying on other senses."

Sherlock took a couple more steps toward her, and instinctively Molly's hands reached behind her to find the wall. She was watching his eyes as they watched her, and it was overwhelming as well as beautiful. He was at arm's length now, and stopped short again.

"Pupils dilated," he murmured. "That's important to see as you move in closer. Sign of attraction."

Molly felt her face flush all over again. This could be really bad. He was reading her like a book, and she wasn't sure he'd like all the chapters.

"Pupils can dilate out of fear though," she offered.

"That's right. But you're not afraid of me. And if you were, there's a door right next to you. You're far from boxed in."

Molly noted that there was a much more comforting tone to his voice than usual. Then he moved closer again, so that he was only about a foot away, standing almost toe to toe with her. She now had the chance to look at him more closely as well.

"Y-your pupils are also di-" she began slowly.

"Shh. _You_ aren't supposed to be proving anything, Molly. Leave the observing to me," he said quickly.

She saw him draw a slow breath and as he let it out he brought his hand up and very lightly brushed the pads of his fingers down the length of her bare arm, starting at the shoulder and descending slowly. His eyes moved away from hers and followed the course of his hand. Molly felt a shiver run through her and tried to stay still.

"Reaction to touch is vital," he whispered. "If you were to move away or appear upset, it would be wise to retreat." She felt his cool fingers close gently around her wrist. "Your pulse is fast. Also a good sign."

That, she didn't need him to tell her. She could feel her heart pounding at a frightening speed and was already hoping that it wouldn't burst out of her chest. Half of her wanted to scream at him to just do it already and stop with the embarrassing observations. But the other half was more than enjoying every second of this.

He brought that same hand back up and brushed his thumb down her cheek, stopping to rest his hand there on the side of her face with fingers reaching back against her neck. Molly's eyes fluttered closed briefly.

"You leaned into my hand, and when I touched your face your lips parted slightly," his voice had gotten even softer and lower too.

Molly thanked God that this seemed to be the final piece in his puzzle, and his face began to descend toward her own. His eyes continued to examine hers and as he did. His thumb moved softly along her jaw line. And finally, he touched his lips to hers, very lightly. He did that once, twice, and then a third time. Giving a feathery kiss, pulling back a bit, and then tilting his head in the opposite direction to move back in. He was still observing. This alone was enough to make her want to grab him and pull him in, leaving no remaining distance between them. But she knew he was supposed to be the one doing the work here, so she held back.

He came back in once more, this time locking his lips more firmly with hers, and she heard him inhale sharply through his nose as he did this. He let go one more time, but at that point Molly's mouth instinctively reached for his again before he could get far. They connected again and the pressure increased immediately. Molly heard herself sigh, but couldn't care enough to stop. Embarrassment had gone out the window and there was nothing troubling her anymore as their mouths began moving together.

Sherlock's fingers had slipped more tightly around the back of her neck, holding her in place. And till this point Molly had been stilling her own hands against the wall behind her. But that wasn't satisfactory anymore. Molly reached her one hand up to wrap behind his neck, and she felt him deepen the kiss further when she slid her hand into the soft curly hair at the back of his head and then curled her fingers in a fist. She also realized that his opposite arm was remaining passively at his side. She took her other hand and grasped his forearm, hoping to encourage it forward. She felt the muscles in his arm flex as if he'd just made a fist, resisting it seemed. He moved his arm up then, but only to press his palm against the wall beside her head. He was trying not to touch her further. But seeing as the kiss was blissfully continuing, she persistently reached up and grabbed his hand off the wall and pulled it down to connect with her waist. Molly felt his fingers pressing around her side instantly and she smiled when he made a soft muffled noise against her lips.

She'd finally gotten her wish, and there was no more space between them. Once she had placed Sherlock's hand around her waist, he had automatically pulled himself in closer and then both Molly's arms had locked more tightly around his neck. Everything was perfect. More than perfect. He had stopped detailing his observations verbally long ago, but Molly could still tell he was kissing her in exactly the way that she wanted him to, because he could see what she wanted.

And then just as she was starting to believe that this wasn't going to end, and that this was the start of something much more, it did indeed begin to end. It was in the very same breath that she felt him pull her in even tighter, that he suddenly separated their lips and then she felt his fingers on her waist pushing back instead of pulling. Her brain erupted in protest, and she reacted by grasping his face in her palms, stopping him.

"Wait, don't!" she breathed out, moving her thumbs against the skin on his face in the same way he had done with her.

His eyes, for all their appearance of the ocean, were absolutely on fire. He was drawing shaky breaths, and looked unlike she'd ever seen him before. He looked almost...afraid.

"Sherlock..." she whispered.

Molly pulled a little trying to reach again for his lips. And for a split second, she saw his eyes close again and he moved forward. Their lips barely touched, and then his eyes flew open again. This time, he effectively pulled away and separated them completely. He turned and took a few steps, standing then with his back to her. He placed his hands on his hips and she could see his shoulders rising and falling heavily. Molly felt suddenly cold, standing there alone, seeing him further than arm's length.

"I'd say I've adequately proved my point," he said through heavy breaths. "I'd ask you if that was satisfactory, but I believe you've already answered that question pretty clearly."

Molly couldn't speak yet. She was trying to steady her own breathing and heart rate. She was also trying to process the fact that this had just happened, and that it was over, and that it may never happen again. All of those things combined made her feel like she could cry. She had been a fool, and this was probably a mistake. She could barely think of what was appropriate to say at a moment like this, so she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"God, what a waste," she breathed out.

"Sorry?" he asked turning his head a bit, but still facing away from her.

"You're right. You do know what you're doing. And it's a waste. Someone should be benefiting from that!" She couldn't help letting out a small shaky laugh.

"Well, I suppose I'll take that as a compliment," he said in a small voice.

There was a minute of silence as they both stood there in place. Molly began to feel strange, standing there staring at Sherlock's back. She worried that perhaps Sherlock now wanted her to leave. Maybe that wasn't as pleasant for him as it seemed to be. Maybe he was sorry he did it.

"Um, should I just...go?" she asked hesitantly.

At that question he whirled around, looking like he'd just been brought back to reality. He blinked a few times, and licked his lips quickly.

"Sorry, erm, I was just...thinking...no, Molly, you don't have to go. Did you perhaps want some tea? I had wanted to make some before I went downstairs to the basement." He went briskly over without getting an answer and put the kettle on.

"Um, ok sure." Molly found, to her relief, that her legs did actually still work when she tried to move them. She hadn't been sure up to that point. She walked over and took a seat again on the edge of his bed.

A few minutes later, tea was poured as they stood in the little kitchen in the corner of his room. Molly sipped her tea as she leaned on the counter, and Sherlock simply held his for a while as he stared down into it. She was feeling a bit awkward. But finally he looked up and gave her an out of the ordinary, brief, but warm smile.

"I was planning to record some findings of mine. I also have to try to work out who keeps breaking into the shed. The groundskeeper is less than pleased with the missing supplies...it's fine if you'd like to stay though."

Molly was hesitating as she started to answer, and then Sherlock spoke up again.

"I'd like you to stay."

Her eyes lit up as they met his. She was pretty sure she'd never heard him phrase it like that. Well, in that case...

"Ok then. Thanks," she said softly.

And somehow they comfortably spent another two hours together, doing the things that Sherlock had planned on. As well as a brief intermission to tend to Molly's laundry. Molly kept looking at Sherlock and wondering how he could so effortlessly move on from what had easily been one of the best snogs she'd ever had. He didn't seem awkward or uncomfortable. He seemed perfectly as ease and unfazed.

When Molly finally needed to head to her own room, he said goodnight pleasantly and that he'd talk to her tomorrow. If anything, Molly was the awkward one. She left, with thoughts that were mostly internally focused. Trying to imagine how she'd avoid giving away her growing feelings and the larger than life memory of their kiss. How would she be able to match his cool manner?

What she didn't know, was that the moment Sherlock shut his door and heard her walk away, he fell heavily back on his bed and ran his hands over his face and let out a frustrated groan. Sherlock turned his head and happened to look at the skull on the nightstand. He shook his head slightly.

"What am I doing?" he asked quietly.

Then he shut the light off, lay there on his bed for the next three hours, and tried desperately to properly organize everything in his mind palace...but he didn't even come close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, I had fun with that chapter! Careful Sherlock, your feelings are showing a bit hehe!... Ok, so the last two chapters will be up tomorrow. Hope you end up liking how I wrap it all up!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is going to start coming together now!

-Oxford University 2003-

"Where will you be after next week?" Molly questioned as they sat on a bench outside a cafe nearby Exeter house.

"Briefly I'll go home to my parents in the country. But only long enough to make plans. I'll be doing some traveling. I consider it networking. I need to establish my business. And connections will be the next most important thing to what goes on up here," he said tapping his head.

"You just got scone in your hair," she said with a giggle and brushed the crumbs from the bed of curls they'd landed on. Sherlock gave a brief smile of thanks.

Sherlock didn't react to her touch in the same way that he used to. He didn't react with discomfort. They certainly didn't walk around holding hands. But it was still warmer than before. Despite her initial fears after the kiss, it seemed to almost break some remaining ice that existed between them. More specifically on Sherlock's side. They never discussed it, never acknowledged anything in particular. But there was a marked difference. If Molly had been pressed to define it, she could only say that he acted just a bit more like a man in the presence of a woman, instead of a chemist in the presence of a doctor. The way he looked at her sometimes now. The way he didn't mind being close. And he tended to initiate leisure activities more. In the past, Molly had to push for anything that didn't revolve around class work or experiments. Now he took an almost equal interest.

"You'll never be taken seriously as a detective if you've got crumbs in your hair. No matter how many connections you make," she added teasingly.

"That would please my brother greatly! He'll be coming to the degree ceremony next week. As well as my parents, though they're harmless enough. You may be forced to meet them."

"I'd like to! I think that would be nice. I'd especially like to meet your brother."

"That's because you haven't met him yet."

"Well, I'm sure he just takes getting used to. You weren't warm and fuzzy when we first met either."

Sherlock frowned in disgust. "And I'm still not warm and fuzzy, thank God."

Molly rolled her eyes. "You're nicer now, that's all I mean."

"Well Mycroft doesn't get nicer. In fact he probably takes more liberties at being nasty after you spend longer with him. I recommend you don't seek out a meeting. Avoid him if at all possible."

"What can possibly happen in the course of a handshake and a nice to meet you? I'm not worried."

Sherlock chuckled cynically. "Don't say I didn't warm you."

Molly really wasn't worried. She considered herself a likable person. And she'd won Sherlock over eventually. So meeting members of his family didn't seem frightening. She was looking forward to it actually. More pieces to add to the Sherlock puzzle. She wished she was able to go to the ceremony, but he was only given three tickets. But she knew she'd see him afterward back at the college housing. He'd need to get the rest of his things.

She hoped they'd be able to keep in touch easily after his leaving. This whole place just wouldn't feel the same anymore without his presence. She was thankful that next year would begin much more clinical work to keep her busy, and she wouldn't have much of the dreary book work. It would still be difficult to have him farther away, but there were always weekends and breaks. They'd surely still see each other. And it's not as if his social calendar would be packed with activities in his free time. She'd never heard him speak of any other personal friends. And knowing him, that wasn't likely to change any time soon.

"I've got to get back. I have some work to finish," Molly said with a yawn. "It's not even dark yet and I'd love to just sleep!"

"Well then you'd better finish that coffee. No sleeping yet."

"Easy for you to say. You barely need sleep!"

"And you should be taking notes. Doctors can't be sleepy."

"Don't forget the type of patients I'd like to be working with, Sherlock. I doubt they'll care if I'm constantly yawning."

"Very true, but I'm sure it would still be frowned upon to nap on the autopsy table."

Molly laughed at the image that was then in her head. She sighed afterward. "God I'm gonna miss you, Sherlock."

His head shot over to look at her, then his gaze fell back on the coffee cup in his hands. He was a little baffled as to a response. He probably would have guessed she was going to miss him. But the actual statement made aloud was harder to process. The normal response would be _I'm going to miss you too._ He hadn't really thought about it till that moment. And he never recalled telling anybody he would miss them. But somehow, when he saw Molly looking at him with big brown eyes...he already missed her. He was surprised. The truth was that he was absolutely going to miss Molly Hooper.

He looked hesitantly at her and swallowed. "Yes I- I'll also...me too," he finally forced out quietly.

She could only look back at him and smile. She couldn't really say anything. There was so much she'd like to say, but she knew it wouldn't be as well received. And better to leave it, she thought. They'd already come so far.

"Come on. Let's go," she said softly, and they walked back down the street.

* * *

Molly put on a dress. She may not be attending the ceremony, but Sherlock was leaving today. So if that wasn't enough of a reason to look nice, then nothing was. Besides, it was much warmer than it had been some weeks before. She twisted her hair over to one side in a low loose ponytail. Molly looked at the watch on her wrist and found that Sherlock would possibly be back by now. She hoped she wouldn't end up catching a hurried "see you later" as he was heading out the door. So she decided to head downstairs herself.

Molly approached Sherlock's door and saw that it was open a crack and she heard voices inside. She heard his unmistakable voice as well. So he must be in there with his family. She took a deep breath and knocked as she opened the door a little more and peeked in.

"Hi Sherlock!" she said with a smile.

She was greeted by a number of interesting faces. Sherlock looked surprised to see her, and a little nervous. His parents stared at her, not unkindly, but with interest. His father's face quickly spread in a small smile and she was already almost sure he was the nicest one in the family. His brother clearly...was not.

Mycroft Holmes walked past where his brother stood and stared her down when she'd entered the room completely. His eyes widened at first, then narrowed, looking her up and not in the complimentary way. Molly was sure she'd never had a more fitting moment for the expression that a person "looked down their nose at you." She gave him a shy smile though and then looked at Sherlock.

"I just wanted to catch you before you left...sorry if I'm interrupting."

"As you can see, we're almost done. Molly these are my parents, Siger and Violet Holmes...this is Molly Hooper."

Molly took the proper handshakes that were offered and smiled. Then she looked toward Mycroft who was still staring coldly at her. Mycroft took one look at this sweet girl in a white sundress and regarded her as a frightening liability. He ascertained immediately that she wasn't the kind of woman to intentionally hurt his brother. But she was the kind that could weaken him. And for Sherlock, that would hurt.

"Well let's get these last couple boxes down to the car dear. Why don't you come Mycroft?" Mr. Holmes suggested.

"I don't think that's necessary. It's only two boxes," he said simply, with a glance at his brother who drew a breath of irritation.

There were some "nice to meet you" as the Holmes parents left the room, and then Molly stood there with the two brothers. She wondered at what point Sherlock was planning on taking the lead, so she jumped to it.

"Hi, you must be Mycroft." Molly extended her hand. Mycroft took it slowly.

Sherlock jumped in then, realizing that he couldn't exactly prevent it now. "Mycroft this is Molly Hooper. She's a-"

"First year medical student I believe," Mycroft stated quickly as he released her hand.

"Oh! You can do it too eh? How nice. You two must have loads of fun together!" Molly said with a little laugh. But her smile faded when she saw no reaction from the men.

"Oh loads of it," Mycroft said sarcastically.

"Well, I'm glad I got to meet you and your parents. Sherlock's been such a good friend to me this year."

Mycroft's eyebrow shot up and his eyes widened. "Been a good _what_?"

"Well, I think that's about enough introductions," Sherlock interjected, and actually stepped between the two people. And he also gave Molly a look, telling her that she should leave now.

"Oh um, sure. Well anyway, I was going to ride my bike down to the park. I don't know how soon you'll be leaving Sherlock, but I was wondering if you'd like to come for a bit," she asked with hopeful eyes.

"Actually we'll be leaving very-" Mycroft began.

"I'll meet you there in about twenty minutes, Molly," Sherlock said quickly.

She smiled brightly and touched his arm briefly. "Ok great! I'll see you in a bit...nice to meet you, Mycroft," she added, and then slipped out of the door.

She was heard walking down the hall and out of the building, and Sherlock then turned slowly to look at his brother awaiting the verbal lashing that was coming.

"Making friends now little brother?" he asked in a superior tone.

"She's a very intelligent woman, Mycroft. She's been an asset."

"You haven't needed an asset in the form of a woman before. Or in the form of any person. And she happens to be quite lovely."

"Yes she's lovely, so _what?_ " Sherlock bit back.

"Getting defensive, Sherlock? What for? Something to hide?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't need to hide anything from you, Mycroft. Because your opinion matters very little."

"Keep telling yourself that Sherlock...but I'd be careful if I were you. Don't want to get too attached. We both know what happens when you get attached. It's better not to care too much. Or at all if you can help it. Remember Red Beard..."

"Oh shut up, Mycroft!" he spat out as he whirled around to face his brother. "First of all she's not a dog who may end up unexpectedly being put down tomorrow! And second, I am _not_ too attached!"

"Not only do I have a hard time believing you, but I think there's the little problem to consider of how attached _she_ is." Mycroft gave Sherlock a hard stare and lowered his voice a bit. "Surely you are aware she's in love with you."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he scoffed at his brother. "Don't be dramatic, Mycroft. She's not in love with me! Physically attracted to me, perhaps. But that's all!"

Mycroft uttered a smug chuckle. "Oh, Sherlock...poor Sherlock. You can't even see it. You can't see it because you don't want to. I saw her in your presence for no more than three minutes and it was obvious to me! Where exactly do you think this will go? Nowhere if you're wise. But where will that leave her? Hurt."

"She understands I'm not interested. I told her I avoid that manner of distraction," he said as he ran his hand on the back of his neck.

"I see...and was that before or after you kissed her?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned. Of course Mycroft would know. How could he not? It the roles were reversed, Sherlock would surely be able to pick out those details as well.

"Sending out some rather mixed signals aren't you Sherlock? Oh no I'd say there's no possible way this could all blow up in your face and leave everyone feeling terrible. You certainly have things well under control don't you? I'm sure Molly Hooper will certainly be better off for knowing you," his words dripped with sarcasm.

Sherlock stood staring out the window then, and didn't even want to respond. He was angry at what Mycroft was saying. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to think about it. He had been so sure of everything before this.

"And so I'd assume you still plan to see her after you leave here," Mycroft continued.

"I'm sure I'll barely see her," he said quietly, then felt a strange drop in his stomach.

"We'll see I suppose. You may end up missing her, and then you'll want to spend more time with her. That's what happens you know. That's what happens with a _distraction_ like this. They can grow and grow."

Sherlock was silent again for a moment. Then he drew a breath and let it our slowly. "Well this has been pleasant as always. I'll be going now. Didn't Mummy want to see more of the college grounds? Why don't you take her to do that and then pick me up in another half hour at the park around the block." Sherlock stuck his mobile in his pocket.

"Oh come on, Sherlock, why don't you just leave with us now?"

Sherlock turned again to face his brother as he left the room. "Because I _can't._ I will not hurt her by leaving without saying goodbye...I owe her at least that." He looked away, appearing slightly defeated.

Mycroft looked back at him evenly. "You're coming to your senses I see. Well, I wish you all the best in your decision making. Give me a call when you're ready for the car."

Sherlock nodded and left without another word. He strode quickly out of the building. He walked to the main road outside the entrance to the grounds which had been the location of his home for the past three years. He took a final look behind him, then reached his arm out to hail a cab that he heard approaching. It wasn't difficult to drive away from this place. The place held no sentimental value to him. It served its purpose, and now he was done with it, ready to move on. And yet...

As the cab began moving, he rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and undid another button below the collar. The warmer weather was getting to him at the moment, and he felt almost feverish. He felt like walls were closing in on him. He pressed his lips together and felt his breathing becoming heavier and more difficult with pressure building in his chest. He closed his eyes, leaning his head on the seat behind him. But he quickly put his head up again and sighed, feeling no relief. There was no relief to be had in that moment. He was torn. So confused. And he wanted, he just wanted...

He wanted Molly.

His eyes widened, as if he was staring at himself in shock. _How had he missed what was happening?_ He dragged a hand through his hair and began to slow his breathing. He saw himself in a much more honest light in that moment. He was upset by his brother and what he'd said, and in his distress he'd wanted Molly.

And then the fear set in. Is this how it would be? He would want Molly now because he was used to her being around. He would begin to feel like he _needed_ her. If he was confused by a case, or upset by his brother, or he just wanted some _distraction._ This was exactly what he'd always avoided. He wasn't supposed to need those things. Being alone had worked so well. It had worked perfectly. And now somehow having this woman near him was a requirement in order to stay sane. To feel comforted. He hadn't even realized it was happening till the idea entered his head that she wouldn't be around.

The solution was a painful one. But he knew it had to be done if he was to bring himself back to the successful solitude he's enjoyed less than a year ago. That was what he needed. He needed his work, and he needed to be alone. The two went hand in hand. He had always believed they did, and he was sure they always would.

_She'll be fine_ he told himself. _I'm not that important to her. She's got plenty of friends to keep her busy. She'll understand. She's got her own busy life anyway. Perhaps she could do with less distraction as well..._ he cut his own thought process off then and shook his head sadly. He was fooling himself, and he knew it. He'd seen the truth now, that his brother had seen so quickly. Molly Hooper loved him. She loved him and he was about to say goodbye to her.

The cab came to a halt then. He climbed out and began to walk toward the small woman in white who stood near the pond...

* * *

-London 2012-

Sherlock paced the darkened street, mind racing furiously.

"There's only one thing he needs to do in order to complete his game and that's to-" and he froze.

"Sherlock?" John questioned his friend.

"Something I need to do," he said firmly.

"What? Can I help?"

"No, on my own," Sherlock answered immediately and was off in a flash, leaving John confused in the middle of the street.

He hailed a cab once he'd rounded the block and was out of John's view. He jumped in and gave the destination.

"Bart's hospital please. Quickly."

There wasn't much time. In just about every sense of the words. He had to catch her in time. He wasn't even sure how much time he had. How did Moriarty plan to do it? How did Moriarty plan to make him do it? The only advantage he could come up with was to do it on his own terms. Get Moriarty to play by _his_ rules. If he could control the setting and the timing and circumstances, he may have a chance. He may end up having a chance at anticipating the possible outcomes. And that meant he could plan. He could plan for his own survival.

But he couldn't do it alone. He couldn't _be_ alone anymore. It had been sneaking up on him for quite a while. The realization that things weren't perfect the way he'd believed they were so many years ago. John was a big part of that. He saw how having John in his life bettered him, not made him weaker. The way he could be made complete by the attributes that a friend had. Attributes that made up for the things that he lacked. It felt so much better to simply exist now. It felt better to talk with someone to listen. It felt better to think if someone else was in the room. It felt better to know that someone cared.

And that night as he rode along in the cab through the dark streets of London, he knew very clearly why it felt so good. It was because he'd felt it before. He knew that feeling, and it had made him happy years ago as well. He couldn't imagine now how he had thrown it away so easily back then. How did he walk away from what made him so happy, made him better, and made him stronger? How had he walked away from the first real friend he'd ever had?

The cab came to a halt and he quickly paid and went around the back of the hospital, breaking into a back door that he knew was easily opened. He quickly made his way to the lab and walked in to the darkened room. He could hear her in the adjoining room, and he looked at his watch. Perfectly timed. She'd be leaving in a matter of minutes. All he had to do was wait.

Sherlock stood quietly in the dark, and waited for Molly...


	12. Chapter 12

-Oxford University 2003-

As Sherlock approached Molly, he saw she had been found by someone else as well. She was talking with her friend Jane.

"Sherlock! You made it," Molly said cheerfully. "Jane was just taking some pictures as a favor for some of the other graduates. She's really good! You should see some of her work!"

"Stop! It's just a hobby," Jane said modestly. "Hey, aren't you leaving too?" she said to Sherlock.

"Yes, I'm leaving today," he said quietly.

"Oh, well, you want me to take a picture for you guys?" Jane offered.

"No, that's fine, we're-" Sherlock began declining.

"Oh come on! We should!" Molly pushed. "Sherlock, come here."

Sherlock reluctantly came over to Molly and stood next to her, feeling especially uncomfortable with the idea of taking a cozy picture with the girl he was about to leave behind. Jane backed up and held her camera up to her eye, making some adjustments. Then she peered up over the machine, and laughed.

"Ok, Sherlock, you're going to have to try smiling a little! And maybe you should try to act like you're friends or something. Sherlock, just put your arm around Molly's shoulder."

Sherlock sighed a little and slowly took his left hand out of his pocket. He took a step over closer to where Molly stood next to him and finally placed his arm gently over her shoulders. He felt the skin on her upper arm that had been warmed by the sun she'd been standing in. It was warm, and smooth, and familiar...from the memory of last time he'd touched her bare arm. Sherlock cleared his throat and hoped this picture was done quickly.

"Sherlock, again, you've got to smile! Just a little one," Jane called out.

Molly peered up at him just as his lips curled slightly in a very typical looking smile for him. She grinned at the familiar sight, and that's when Jane took the picture.

"Ok, that was nice! Molly, I'll email it to you. I've got to run. I'll talk to you later though. Hey, congratulations, Sherlock!" she added, and then turned to get back to the other students she was with.

After she was gone, Molly turned to Sherlock again. "Well that was nice. I'll forward you the picture when I get it ok?"

Sherlock nodded quickly, while looking out into the water nearby. Molly's eyes followed the path of his, then trailed back to his face, searching him.

"Sherlock? Are you ok?"

He looked back at her, which was painful. She looked happy...he didn't like discussing feelings. But he wasn't sure how he'd be able to get away without some of that today. She wouldn't let him walk away easily, he was sure of it.

"Fine, yes. Let's go sit over here, Molly." He gestured toward a bench that sat under the trees.

They took a seat and Molly watched nothing but Sherlock, whereas he was looking off into the distance again. He folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes as a breeze blew in their faces. Molly was beginning to get worried. Something wasn't right.

"It was nice of you to meet me. I mean, with your family here," she began.

"It's fine. I told them to bring the car in a bit. I just...didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"Well I certainly hope not! I'd kill you if you did!" she laughed and elbowed him lightly.

He managed a brief look at her and cracked a smile. Then his brow furrowed again. He took a breath and seemed to pull in some needed strength. Then he turned his body a bit on the bench to face her. He reached out and took her hand, which then made Molly frown in confusion. She'd never seen him do such a thing.

"Molly, I want you to know that I do appreciate how kind you've been to me this year. You didn't have to do it."

She shook her head. "Well, I know, but I wanted to. I didn't mind...it made me happy."

"You're a good person. Better than me certainly...I want to wish you all the best. I know you'll be a successful pathologist, just like you want. I'm sure of it."

"Well, I'll be keeping you updated of course. I may need some refresher courses in the art of the mind palace too!" She smiled, trying to make him smile as well. But his face remained serious.

He let go of her hand and clasped his own together, resting them on his forearms on his legs.

"I'm going to be very busy, Molly," he said simply.

"Oh. Right, well I know you'll be traveling over the summer. But you're coming back to London after than right?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Well, I won't bother you or anything. You could just call or email when you get back. I mean, I'd like to know when you end up getting settled back in London. And I could always come visit."

"Molly, I won't be- that is, I need to focus on my work now."

She peered at him, searching his face. Her own expression quickly became more serious. What was he saying?

"So...you mean I can't come visit? Because you'll be working?" Her eyes narrowed.

"I just need to focus on my work," he repeated. "And limit distractions."

"Oh well, I know but, you won't be working all the time. What about when you're not working?"

"I plan to make that time extremely limited," he said determinedly.

Molly sat back in the bench, letting silence fall between them for a few moments. What had just happened? How had things suddenly changed from yesterday? She felt like he was suddenly slipping from her grasp, and she couldn't hold on.

"Sorry...did I do something, Sherlock? Something wrong?" she asked, turning to him again.

"No, Molly, of course not. You did nothing wrong." But he said it sadly.

"Wait, did your brother say something to you? He doesn't like me does he?"

"He had opinions, but he never said he doesn't like you."

"But he wasn't happy that we were friends was he? Is that what this is about?" she pressed.

"No, Molly." Sherlock was sounding tired. "Believe me, I take no pleasure in doing what my brother wants me to do. Frankly it would be more tempting to snog you against my wall again in front of him if only for the purpose of causing irritation."

Molly looked at him cautiously. "I'm- not really sure what to say about that..."

"Sorry, forget I said that...look this has nothing to do with my brother, this is about me. It's just me. I just can't keep doing...this."

"You- you don't want to be friends anymore. That's what you're saying, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

He opened his mouth and looked at her, then clamped it shut again and looked back down. He demonstrated a clear answer even though he'd given none verbally.

Molly played with the edging on the hem of her dress for a moment. "Why? Can you give me a reason? I mean a good reason."

"Molly, I told you before that this isn't my area. Friends and relationships, I mean."

"Oh we're back to that are we? I believe you've made this your area now, Sherlock. Because we're already friends. It's done. I'm your friend, and you're mine. What about that is so beyond your understanding?"

"But I can't do it anymore," he said slowly, and emphasized every word.

"All because you need to focus on your work? Sherlock I'm not that distracting. If I were, you wouldn't have been able to get your degree would you? And yet here you are."

"But my work, the work that I'm going to make for myself, that's more important. That's my _life._ And it's what I need. It's all I need. Everything else, Molly, _everything_ else, is just distraction from that life. Can't you understand that? Can't you see? I can't be using my mind for other things!" he said more forcefully and looked desperately into her eyes.

"Sherlock, is this- is this about...the kiss?"

He pressed his fingers to his lips and looked away, and uttered a muffled, "No."

"If it is Sherlock...delete it," she whispered, feeling a small tremor in her voice. What she was asking him to do was deeply painful. She was asking him to erase the only intimate moment they'd shared. But it wasn't important. Not in comparison to him. She cared more about keeping him, than about his keeping that memory.

"I'm serious," she continued. "If you wish it hadn't happened, if it makes you uncomfortable, just forget about it. Delete it and never think about it again...I know you don't want anything like that, and that's ok. I've been just your friend all these months and I've been ok. I can be just your friend. I can."

"Stop, Molly, please. Look, I've played at this for long enough, and it's time to start doing what I really need to do. _This_ is not what I need." His words were suddenly cutting, even though he looked uncomfortable saying them.

"Sherlock, that's- that's hurtful," she said in a hushed voice of shock. "How can you act like our friendship wasn't even important?"

"It was what you wanted, Molly. If you recall, I asked to _work_ with you at the beginning of the year. We started spending more time together because it was what you wanted."

She shook her head slowly, and stared at him as though she suddenly didn't know him. "That's a lie. I don't believe that for a second. You wanted to be with me, I know you did! What are you so afraid of?"

"Afraid?" he shot back, eyes glaring at her now. "I'm not afraid of anything! It's just not what I need!"

"You keep saying that! And it's not true!" she said, feeling herself getting more upset as the minutes passed.

"It is, Molly! You may not like the idea, but I don't need people! I need to be alone, and I need my work, and that's all. I warned you! I warned you not to think too much of me because this is what I am! Anything else is only what you wanted to believe!"

She stood now, becoming too agitated to stay sitting. "You are afraid, Sherlock! You're afraid to need anyone! And I feel sorry for you. I do...I'd be hurt if you just didn't want to see me again, of course. But if you had other friends, or even just one other friend, at least I wouldn't be worried. But who else do you have, Sherlock? You don't have anybody else! Not one person to turn to for help or support or...love."

He looked up at her, eyes wide. "Because I don't need anyone," he said slowly in a heated whisper.

She felt her strength crumbling as she stared into those eyes. They were so full of every repressed emotion he wouldn't let come out, that it hurt her to look at them. He was so afraid, and there was nothing she could do about it. She had believed before this, that she had made a big difference to him. She thought that he looked at things differently now. It was painful beyond words to see that he still didn't believe that love, in whatever form, could better you and make you happier. He still saw it as a weakness, as a burden. And he thought he didn't need it. He thought he didn't need her.

"Ok. Fine," she said in a shaky whisper, and brushed and small tear that was starting to fall. "I'm not going to argue with you, Sherlock. If you want to say goodbye today, and forever, I'll let you. I won't call you, or try to find you. But I won't lie to you to spare your feelings either. I will miss you every day for who knows how long. And I will never stop hoping that you're ok...but I'm afraid you won't be ok." Her voice broke again before she went on.

"Someday you're going to need someone. It could be for something small or something big. But I'm afraid that there won't be anyone there. If you keep driving people away, there won't be anyone left for you to turn to. I don't want that for you."

He stared in front of him, wishing he couldn't hear the words that were coming out of her mouth. He wished he could retreat into his mind palace and shut out everything else. He just wanted this to be over. It would all be so much simpler when this was over. But he couldn't stop hearing her, no matter how hard he tried. And he could only hope that he'd be able to effectively erase this conversation from his mind later on. He would not let it haunt him.

Molly sat down again next to him, with a sigh. She looked at him, though he wasn't looking at her anymore. "I'm never going to be sorry though. Maybe you'll be sorry for the time we did spend together, but I won't be."

She leaned forward slowly then, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She didn't see how the bridge of his nose furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. He was trying so hard to shut it out, to feel nothing. His eyes flew open again and stared straight ahead as her face pulled away.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." She got up and slowly began to walk away.

Sherlock looked up a moment later, and caught a glimpse of her as she began to get smaller while further and further away and out of his life. He let out a heavy breath that he'd been holding in for a long time. And because she was now too far to hear him, he said to himself alone...

"Goodbye, Molly Hooper."

* * *

-St. Bart's Hospital 2012-

Sherlock broke the silence in the dark room with his low rumbling voice.

"You were wrong you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." He threw his eyes toward her then, in the dark room. "But you were right. I'm not ok."

"Tell me what's wrong?" Molly asked immediately, never for a moment doubting that she could help him. Even though she hadn't the faintest idea of what was about to happen.

"Molly, I think I'm going to die," he said, advancing a bit.

_No,_ she thought. _No, please don't let that be true. I'll do anything..._

"What do you need?" she asked, almost desperately. They were the first words that came to her mind.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am...would you still want to help me?" he was closer now, and she could see his face so clearly. Probably more clearly than she'd seen it in years.

And all she could think was, _I know exactly who you are. I've always knows who you are. Nothing that anybody else says can change who you are to me. How could you even question whether I'd want to move heaven and earth for you? Tell me what to do and I'll do it._

"What do you need?" she repeated in a whisper, while locking her eyes onto his as he moved a bit more toward her.

He looked down at her in a way that she hadn't seen him look at her for many many years. She'd almost forgotten how his eyes could do that...ignite like that.

"You."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Molly finally gulped in a breath. "Y-you need _me_ to...to help you," she clarified.

"No. I mean, yes I do...but, Molly, that's not all I mean."

"Sherlock, come here," she dropped her bag from her shoulder and grabbed his arm pulling him over behind the lab table. "Sit down."

They both slid down onto the cold floor. Sherlock took a few deep breaths then. Molly was still grasping onto the arm that she'd taken as she peered at him. She was afraid. Afraid for him. She'd never seen him so desperate for help. Never seen him so afraid. She wanted him to tell her everything right that moment, so she could make it all go away. She'd never felt such a surge of adrenaline as she did when she looked at Sherlock and knew that he needed her. She didn't believe that there was anything she couldn't do in that moment.

"Talk to me. Just tell me what's going on? And tell me what you need me to do. Tell me, and I'll do it," she breathed out.

Sherlock turned to look at her again, his eyes still on fire. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"I know you need me...I don't have to know anything else," she whispered.

He examined her face, every inch of it. And he shook his head slowly. "Forgive me."

"What? Sherlock, we can talk about this later. Whatever it is...tell me what to do, quickly!" Molly was getting worried, because she knew there could be an issue of time

He grabbed her hands almost roughly. "What I need right now is _you. Just you._ I just need to talk to you. Please."

She could feel tears welling already with the feel of his hands on hers and the desperate look in his eyes. She squeezed them back, and nodded in acceptance.

He let out a breath slowly. "I have to say this. Because there's many things that could happen after tonight. And one of them, though slightly less likely, is that I'll actually die...so I'm asking you to forgive me. For what I did to you years ago, and what I continued to do to you these past two years. I pushed you away."

"Yes...I know," she said sadly.

"But you knew why I did that, didn't you? You knew all those years ago. You said I was afraid."

Molly stared back at him silently. He needed to talk, so she'd let him. She wasn't quite sure what to say anyway. This was all so surreal.

"Well you were right. I was afraid. I was afraid of what you meant to me...what you _could_ mean to me. And I was afraid of what that would do to me. Afraid it would weaken me, and my mind. But I was an idiot. You'll see, Molly, if you end up looking at my medical records after tonight, that I was not in fact ok when I forced myself to be alone. My life only got better when I began to let people in. Mrs. Hudson, then Lestrade, then John."

"Yes...they're good friends," she said softly.

"I know. I know because I had a perfect example to compare them to...and I'm sorry that it took me even longer to want you back. But believe me when I say I'm not afraid anymore, Molly. I'm not afraid of caring. And I do. I care about you, a great deal. I always have, really. No matter how hard I tried not to."

Molly tried to control her lips that wouldn't stop shaking. She couldn't move an inch though, and didn't even bother to wipe the tears that were falling down her cheeks. She was frozen, listening to these words, barely able to breath. She realized that the obvious question in one's mind at this moment could be, why now? Are you saying this now because you're desperate for help? Are you willing to say and do anything to save your own skin? Do your words even mean anything? But Molly didn't need to ask those questions. Because she knew him. Sitting before her on the cold floor of the lab wasn't the haughty know it all detective. She knew all too well what it looked like when that man spoke to her in a calculated way to get what he wanted. But this was a different man. This was Sherlock, her friend.

"There's only one thing that scares me right now. And that's losing the three people Moriarty knows I care about. He'll use them, I know it. I don't want to die, Molly. But I want to protect those people first and foremost. And if that means sacrificing, then I'll do it...I'll do it in an instant."

"You see," she choked out. "I always knew you would."

"Will you help me, Molly? Will you help me do _whatever_ needs to be done in order to keep them safe?"

Molly took a deep breath and finally brought her hands up to her face and quickly brushed away the tears, returning to her stronger and more determined frame of mind. She grabbed Sherlock's hands again and looked at him, matching the intensity of his own eyes now.

"Nothing is going to happen to your friends, Sherlock. And nothing is going to happen to you. Not as long as I'm alive and breathing. Now, tell my exactly what I have to do."

Sherlock examined her eyes, and saw the determination in them. It warmed him in exactly the way he needed, and gave him hope. His serious expression was lit up a bit as a slow smile crept up one side of his lips.

"Let's get to work," he murmured.

For the next twenty minutes, Sherlock quickly detailed all possibilities as to what the outcome could be by the time tomorrow came. Molly was brave, and barely reacted to all the horrible things that Sherlock told her. She knew full well that having a break down would help nobody. Least of all him. They'd gotten up now and Sherlock had written lots of notes and drawn out plans for Molly, given all the varying circumstances that could arise.

"If I have to...kill myself...my brother will contact you. He will tell you it's time, and you will have to begin to act very quickly."

"I can do it. I'll be ready. Everything will be fine, you'll see," she said nodding calmly.

He smiled again at her bravery. "I believe you...but you should know, that if it happens, I'll be going away."

"I understand," she said, not wanting to anything but strong for whatever he had to do.

"I'll have to use my being dead as a means to break down Moriarty's network from the inside out. And that will take time. A long time most likely."

"Well, it doesn't matter really. Whenever you get back...I'll still be here. I'll always be here for you. I'd wait," she said softly, and she realized that the words came out carrying a much heavier meaning than she had intended. But once they were spoken, she wasn't really sorry.

Sherlock pressed his perfect lips together briefly as he processed what she'd said and tried to come up with the right answer...the right words for what he needed to express.

"Molly, I understand how much you care. But please understand I'd never ask you to...wait indefinitely. And I don't just mean if I'm away."

She already knew. She could tell he was speaking of something much different than waiting for his return to London.

"Because that wouldn't be fair to you. And although I believe that if there ever was somebody for me...I can't say if I'll ever be ready to try and..."

"I know," she said quickly saving him from the explanation that he was becoming lost in. She knew, he didn't have to detail it. Especially right now, with all of this going on. "It's ok. I already understand. I've always understood. But what I said still stands. So if you ever were, you know, ready someday...I'd still be here. I'm always going to be here."

Sherlock touched a hand to her cheek briefly, and gave her a warm look. He leaned in and kissed her opposite cheek, then pulled away slowly. _Truly,_ he thought, _If there ever was someone..._ but this wasn't the time to even think about it. So he removed his hand and gathered the papers he'd noted for her and handed them over.

"I have to go now. Keep your mobile on you. And remember, speak to absolutely nobody. Trust no communication except that which comes from my brother."

"Ironic...nice he's willing to work with me though." Molly couldn't help being amused.

"By the time this is over, Molly, he'll be eating whatever idiotic words he'd ever had the nerve to utter about you. I just hope I'm there to see it!"

"You will be. Soon enough...it's just lucky for you both that I work in a morgue. Where would you have gone if I was just a secretary or something?" she chuckled.

Sherlock stopped at the now open door. "Well, I would have simply had to make an extra stop tonight. Because I'd still have gone to you...wouldn't have changed anything."

She smiled, realizing that was true for her as well. "I'd still have asked you what you needed."

Sherlock turned his collar up and gave her one more look.

"And my answer would have been the same."

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys all enjoyed this! I got a lot of comments on the other site from readers wanting me to keep this going further into the canon of show. But honestly, I like where this left off. My goal from the start was that I wanted to make a history for them that wouldn't conflict with the BBC show. And I felt I'd have a hard time doing that if I went further. And to me, TRF was the big moment in the development of the Sherlolly friendship. So it worked perfectly to make that more of a "they're friends again!" Of course though, since I'm a Sherlolly shipper at heart, I had to leave it that Sherlock is conflicted emotionally when it comes to Molly. But I'd love to think that's the truth anyway, even in the show. :)  
> If you enjoyed my writing on this one, check out I Told You So (if you haven't already) which is currently in progress. And I also plan to start uploading another multi-chapter Sherlolly fic from another site that I'd completed some months ago. That one is called Winds of Change... Thanks again for reading and for all your lovely comments! Till next time! ;)


End file.
